Good Cop for Good Cop
by chronicler-of-knuckles
Summary: A rewrite of the episode "Good Cop".
1. Chapter 1

A/N: As Spike was being rocked in his truck by a blue-blood hungry rioters, calling for back up, I thought for sure I knew where this story was going. But it didn't go that way. So, with all due respect to the writers of FP (who, btw, are awesome and do some fantastic work) I rewrote it.

Hope no one hates me… The Chronicler

Flashpoint: Good Cop for a Good Cop

By The Chronicler

The truck was rocking so hard, Spike wondered if they were just gonna roll it with him in it. "Guys….?"

"Spike, we're almost there!"

He saw the steel bat swinging toward him.

Then his world exploded in a shower of glass.

He ducked, but not fast enough.

Glass cut into his skin.

Then the pipe bomb came through the window. It exploded before Spike could even think his good byes.

"Spike!"

Smoke…

So much smoke…

He couldn't see!

He couldn't breathe!

He had to get away from the smoke, the burning… he had to find air!

Spike twisted away as hands grabbed at him through the smoke and broken glass. He climbed over the seats into the back, trying to find some place… any place… where he could breathe.

His eyes were burning.

His lungs on fire.

He was thankful when the door opened, cool, clean air washing the smoke away from him for just a breath.

A black gloved hand reached in, grabbed his arm…

Saved!

Then his world exploded.

0o0o0o0o0

"Spike!" Wordy yelled, pushing his way forward, shoving aside rioter and riot cop alike. "Spike!" he yelled again, demanding an answer from his teammate trapped in the truck.

Coughing, gasping, grunts… they were the only answers.

"Out of the way! Move away!" Sam yelled as he followed close behind Wordy, protecting his back. When a rioter grabbed for Wordy's back, Sam was there to knock the hand aside and throw him back into the not-so-gentle hands of the riot cops.

Jewel was only a breath behind, protecting Sam's wake as assuredly as Sam protected Wordy's.

The riot cops were almost on their own mission, charging at the rioters with their shields, yelling and threatening as they forced their way to the truck, forming a rough perimeter around the vehicle.

Wordy pushed and fought and struggled, but, finally, reached the door of the truck. "Spike, talk to me!" he was yelling into his com. The front door's window was shattered, smoke and heat billowing out. Wordy almost flinched when he heard Jewel's hissed "Oh, Spike…" But then he shook the distraction away.

He knew what he was gonna find when he opened that door!

He knew his friend was fine!

He knew he would be leading Spike back to safety in just a moment and spend tomorrow teasing about smoking in the truck!

He knew!

He knew, damn it!

Yet, when he yanked open the back door, reached through the smoke and heat for his friend, calling for him "Spike! Take my arm!"…

… there was no answer.

"Spike? Spike, talk to me!" Wordy demanded, leaning into the truck, waving at the smoke, trying to clear visibility. "Man, where are you?" he coughed.

The open door on the other side helped to push the smoke out.

Wordy scrambled into the vehicle, looking over, even under the seats, searching for his teammate. "Spike, damn it!" he cursed when he found no one.

"Spike, talk to me, buddy…" came Greg's voice over the com.

"SRU! Here!" came a call from the open door on the opposite side Wordy had entered.

He quickly scrambled through to the open air on the other side. He barely glanced up as Sam slid across the hood to land at his side, gun at the ready, still watching his back.

A sergeant of the riot cops, still snapping orders to his men, held a hand out to Wordy.

When Wordy reached for it a com headset worn by SRU officers was placed in his hand.

"This one of yours?" asked the Sargent.

Wordy looked down at it, his mind freezing in a sudden block of fear.

Sam nodded once. "Yea… yea, that's one of ours." He admitted. He looked around, stepping away from the truck. "Where is he?"

The officer shook his head. "A group ran when we came around the truck, but they got lost in the crowd. That was on the ground." The man stepped away suddenly, yelling into his own head set for the wagon to be brought up. His line was wavering as more angry kids dressed in black returned, recovered from the initial push by the riot cops.

"They took him?" Sam asked, spinning about, searching the crowd. He raised an arm suddenly, blocking a rock thrown at his head.

The sergeant didn't answer as he yelled at his men. "Any resistance, take 'em down!"

Wordy lurched forward, grabbing the man's arm and spinning him about to face him. Holding the found com up in his face, he demanded "Did they take him?!"

"I don't know!" the officer snapped back. "He's not here! We're looking! We're gonna take down every one of these punks until someone talks…"

Wordy pushed him away and grabbed Sam. "Officer taken." He informed the rest of team as he lead Sam back around the truck. "Boss, they got Spike!"

0o0o0o0o0


	2. Chapter 2

Good Cop for Good Cop

By The Chronicler

0o0o0o0o0

Spike's head was on fire.

His lungs were on fire.

His ribs weren't feeling all that great either.

And that damn grinding and puttering of an old pumping engine was not helping matters.

Blinking away tears, he tried to focus, tried to figure out where he was, what was happening. He was leaning at an awkward angle against some steel pipes, his face pressed against cold, wet wood. The flickering of some sort of flame sourced light seemed to make the whole room flutter.

He could smell stale water, cigarette smoke, mold, sweat…

A chattering over the puttering engine: voices, angry and excited…

Smells, sounds, movement all bleared together…

… his stomach lurched, the world tilted…

Spike took a deep breath. The result was a fit of throat grinding coughing. He doubled over himself, ribs protesting, lungs aching…

"Hey… Hey! I think he's dying!" came a cry as a hand rested on his back.

"Stay away from him!" someone else snapped. "He's dangerous!"

"He can't breathe!"

"Let him die!" a third person snapped. "Damn cop… they'd all kill us without a thought… why'd we give a damn about him?!"

"'Cause, he's not the one we want, dumb ass." A fourth voice, calmer, more self-assured than the others.

Sharp fingers dug into Spike's shoulders, lifting him up into a sitting position. "Come on, cop, cough it out. You're no good dead." encouraged the fourth voice.

Sitting up, Spike fought for another lung full of air, coughing again. Blinking through the tears, he managed to get his first look at his captors.

There were five of them standing or crouching in a dark, circular room. Four males, one female. Dressed from head to toe in black, their faces covered from nose down with black bandannas. All except one.

Spike stared at the young man with shaggy black hair wearing an SRU vest and jacket… his SRU vest! His SRU jacket! "So… ?" he managed around coughs. "We goin' for… pizza… or something?"

The fourth, a man with a scar across his eye brow, knelt in front of Spike, holding him up right. "Humor. Good sign. You gonna live?"

"Keep laughing, cop." growled the one of the males. "Never know when it's gonna be your last chuckle."

Spike licked his lips, nodding slightly, but instantly winced. Reaching up, he touched his head just above his right ear. When he pulled his hand down, his fingers were dark and sticky. Slow realization came: he was hurt.

His training kicked in, taking a mental check list:

Head wound.

Bruised ribs.

Lungs burning.

He tried to look about, but moving his head too fast brought on waves of dizziness. Swallowing hard, Spike chose, instead, to sit very still. "Wanna tell me what this is all about? Maybe I can…" He saw the gun tucked in Eye-scar's belt… his gun! "…help…?"

Again, training stepped in when everything else wanted to panic.

Understanding.

Making connections.

Create sense of humanity.

Offer Solutions.

Alternatives.

His brain frantically went over the steps in his head. You can do this, buddy, talk your way out of this. Just pretend to be the boss or Ed or Jules or anyone other than yourself!

Eye-scar smirked at him. "Huh… would you listen to those wheels spin." He tapped Spike in the head. "You SRU guys… you're trained to negotiate and talk folks out of what's right, aren't you." It wasn't a question. "Might as well give that cracked skull of yours a break."

Spike shrugged. "Just want to help out, make sure everyone gets out of this alive." He paused to cough. "My names Scarlatti… but folks call me Spike. You… you tell me what you want… maybe I can help you get it."

A bark of laughter drew Eye-scar's eyes to his associates. The one in the SRU vest was making some final adjustments, tugging at the many pockets, the badges on his arm, making sure everything looked as it should. "Eye for an eye, pig cop!" he snarled. "That's what we want."

Another boy shook his finger at the officer. "You kill some kid, we kill you."

Spike wondered if they could hear the sudden pounding in his chest. Taking a breath, trying to calm himself, he gave himself a moment to think, to remember, to sort through the jumbled mess of his head and figure out what this was all about.

Hugged Ed.

Park the car.

The riot.

The truck rocking.

Shattering glass.

Smoke.

Dead kid.

Cop got off.

Kill cop.

Well… so…

"I didn't kill any kid." Spike breathed.

"Not as far as we know." Was the response from the SRU impersonator. "Probably just 'cause you haven't had the chance."

The girl leaned close, putting her face in Spike's, their noses only inches apart. "That right? Would you shoot me if you had the chance? Maybe if I had my hands in my pockets, huh? Maybe then? I stole some gum once when I was a kid… Gonna take me out in a hail of bullets?"

Spike shook his head. "I don't want to shoot anyone." he protested. "I don't want to see anyone shot." It was the truth.

God's honest truth!

Her eyes blinked above her mask. Then, with a sudden violent scream, she grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his head back against the pipe. "Liar! You bastard liar!"

"Hey! Hey, Pip! Calm down!" Eyebrow-scar grabbed her around the waist and spun her away. "Take it easy."

She let out a maddening scream, but turned away, slamming her hands against the wall.

Eyebrow-scar glanced at her over his shoulder before, with a shake of his head, he called to one of the others. "Dog, gimme the phone."

The smallest edged forward, looking everywhere but at the officer on the floor. He kept tugging at his bandanna as if afraid it wasn't hiding enough of his identity. The black hood pulled over the top of his head was adorned with a huge, floppy pair of hound dog ears. He leaned close to Eyebrow-scar when he handed over the phone, whispering "He can breathe now, right?"

Eyebrow-scar jerked his head to the side, sending the boy scampering back into the dark corner.

Spike watched the boy until he disappeared into the shadows. "He's kinda young to be a regular at the protests, isn't he?" he mumbled, more than a little concern that some kid was going to end up in the line of fire when Team One came flying in to the rescue.

Then again, Team One didn't charge in blind. They were smart. They were careful. They will know every ounce of information about everyone they possibly can before even attempting entry.

"Worry 'bout your own damn self!" the girl snarled, spinning about again. Snatching up a baton, she waved it to the others. "Tie 'im up!" she pointed , giving them directions. "Arms high! Anchor his feet! Tight!"

Spike was jerked to his feet by two of the males. Hand cuffs from his own equipment was snapped around his wrists: one set to each wrist, then locked around a brace above his head. With his hands secured, they began work on his feet, using a heavy tow rope, anchoring him down to the pipe that ran along the floor.

"You don't have to do this." He tried to keep his voice steady. He needed to keep them calm. Keep them from steady, in control. Don't be a threat…. "I won't try to get away. Just tell me what you want. I can help you…"

"What I want?" the girl screamed. She jabbed the end of the baton into the constable's ribs.

Spike cried out as fire laced through his body, every muscle jerking in protest to the sudden attack of electricity. When she pulled the baton away, his knees gave way under him, leaving him hanging from the cuffs at his wrists.

She looked over her shoulder at Eyebrow-scar. "Start rolling."

"please…." Spike whispered. He twisted against his bonds, trying to get his legs to work. "Just tell me…"

"What I want?" Again she jabbed him with the cattle prod.

Again Spike cried out, squeezing his eyes close.

"I want justice!"

Another jab.

"I want what's right!"

Another jab.

"I want my life back!"

Another jab.

"I want Luc back!"

She held the end of her weapon against Spike's back.

Pain spider webbed across his back, through every muscle, through every joint, every vein. White light exploded behind Spike's eyes, his body convulsing with the current racing through it from the point of contact. Some part of his mind held on to thought, wondering where that far of scream was coming from. But, then, finally, even thought attempted to escape the pain.

"Pip! Pip, stop! Get off him! Damn it, Pip!" Eyebrow-scar grabbed the girl and threw her back against the far wall. "For crying out loud… he's not the one you want!" He took a protective stance between her and their captive.

"I don't care!" she screamed, desperate rage ripping away at what little hold on sanity she had.

"Focus, Pippy! We have a plan. Stick to it." He stepped close to her, offering his hand. "Stay focus. Remember why we're all here? Your vision! You have such a strong vision… stay true to it and we'll follow you anywhere." He shook his head. "But, lose it… Pippy, we have a goal… your goal!" he reasoned.

She was breathing heavy, her chest pumping with the effort. But, as he spoke, she began to hear, to remember why she was here, why they were all here. She lowered her weapon, closing her eyes, forcing herself to calm down, to remember. She fought down the tears that threaten, the despair of feeling so alone, so lost…

"Alright." She finally breathed. Her eyes opened. "Did you get it? Good pics?"

Eyebrow-scar licked his lips. It almost frightened him how passionate she was. But, then again, it was her passion that gave them their focus. Nodding, he admitted "Yea. Kept recording right up 'til he dropped. Ronin? You good with this, man?" He held the phone out to the imposter.

Tugging on his SRU disguise, the young man stepped up to take the devise. "Yea… yea, I got this."

"They're not gonna let you go. You're taking one for the movement."

Ronin shrugged. "What's anarchy without a little sacrifice." He actually grinned. "Set a bonfire and sing my praises at the next rally." He took a moment to tie down the last of Spike's gear to his legs before turning and climbing up the ladder to the hatch on the roof.

"Mat, get him close enough, then get out of the way." Eyebrow-scar ordered, sending another up and after the first. He turned once more to Pip. "Go watch for your man. Jamie and I'll keep them busy outside the courthouse."

She started to turn to the ladder, but paused to glance back at their prisoner.

"Dog will watch him. And he'll be here when you get back." Eyebrow-scar promised.

She turned to look at the boy.

"I… I will." He stuttered his own promise, his eyes big with fear.

Pip nodded a little. "Remember, get out of here by six, okay? That's when the water starts."

The boy's brow wrinkled with a frown. "But…" He looked back at the constable who was just starting to moan softly, coming around again.

"If I'm not back by then, then we didn't get what we wanted and he pays the price." Pippy told him, her voice strangely calm with the notion. "If we get what we want, then cops will be swarming this joint in an oh such a hurry to save one of their own." That being said, she swung up the ladder and was gone.

Eyebrow-scar threw the boy a glance. "Don't talk to him. These guys… they're trained to talk right minded people into thinking they're wrong. You know we're right!"

The boy nodded almost frantically. "They killed Luc." He announced as if it was news.

The leader nodded in agreement. Then he too disappeared up the ladder.

The hatch was closed behind him, leaving the circular in cold, wet darkness save for the kerosene lantern that flickered, casting strange shadows across the strange walls.

0o0o0o0o0

"I can't watch this." Constable Bill Greely cursed. He turned away from the video screens and headed for the far door.

"Ed…" Greg barely spoke, but he knew his friend would understand.

"I have him." Ed assured, rising to his feet and heading after.

The riot police commander was snapping orders into his own com. "Bring up the jail truck. disperse the crowd, any resistance deploy the sound canon and…"

"Tim, that isn't going to help. We need to calm…" Greg tried one more time.

"Really? You really want to keep doing this your way, Parker?" snapped the man. He started for the door that lead down to the front of the building. "You already lost one man doing things your way. I'll be damned if we lose him on my watch! I don't care if I have to drag every one of those punks through the ringer. I gonna get our man back!" The last he shouted over his shoulder as he stomped out of the room, barely avoiding the remainder of Team One as they entered the courtroom.

Greg watched as the three entered, catching himself as he counted heads. Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, there was the thought that this was all wrong. Someone had heard wrong, made a mistake, was playing a real bad joke.

One.

Sam, looking mad, but in control.

Two.

Jules, calm, but fidgeting, worried.

Three.

Wordy, instantly pacing, anger rolling off of him like a tidal wave.

Four…

Greg closed his eyes for just a breathe.

Three.

Opening his eyes, he took charge. "What do we know?"

"This wasn't a chance, boss." Sam spoke first, certainty giving strength to his tone. "They waited to get someone alone. They targeted him, they got him, and then they vanished into the crowd."

"Not exactly Anarchist behavior." Greg observed. "Jules, what's that?" he nodded to what was left of some sort of pipe in her hand.

"A pipe bomb." She explained. "I don't know what type, or if it was meant to just be smoke or if it misfired. It's what was thrown into the window…" She stopped before noting that if Spike was there he could tell them everything about the bomb. But then she added "If they hit the window right, there's a chance the dash cam caught something…"

"Check it out." Greg tilted his head toward the computers.

Both Sam and Jules moved to the computers to begin searching the security cams.

Greg turned his attention to Wordy.

The man was pacing angrily, his hands flexing as if searching for something to hit.

"Wordy…" Greg started, carefully.

"I was right there, boss." He hissed, avoiding eye contact. "Right there. They must have been dragging him out the other side just as I was opening the door. Right there!"

"Slow down, Wordy. Take a breath." Greg quickly interrupted the rant. "Wordy, stop and look at me!" he commanded when his man still paced and growled.

Reacting more out of instinct than thought, Wordy snapped to at the command, meeting his Sargent's eyes finally. Instantly, his anger gave way to fear. "Sarg… it's Spike. I know he's smart as hell and he's a damn good cop, but… Sometimes he's… I don't know… just a kid. A geeky, awkward kid." He shook his head. "I was right there." He whispered.

"And you will be again." Greg assured, his voice gentle, but confident. "We are going to find him. We are going to bring him home. But we need to stay focused. We need to keep it together." He reached out to give Wordy's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You with me, here?"

The man took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming himself. "Yea. Yea." He answered after a moment.

"Good." Greg smiled a little. "Besides, Spike might be some geeky kid, but he's a geeky kid with combat skills."

Wordy chuckled.

Satisfied that his man was back in control, he told him "Taking him wasn't a random act against the powers that be. That's a personal act. Someone personally connected to this case instigated it."

"You thinking the Buteaus?" Wordy asked as they moved to the command station where Jules and Sam were working.

Greg thought back to when he had spoken with the father.

The man had been angry. Rightfully so. His son was dead. The man he believed responsible be released without punishment for what he believed to be a most horrific act: the murder of his son. It was very possible that Jean Paul Buteau would, could, and still might, strike out at the man he saw as responsible.

But, to take another man in his place?

No, Greg didn't see that.

But, someone close to Luc did do this thing. And Luc's parents would be the best source of information in that area.

"Look at this guy." Jules spoke up, pointing to a screen. "Watch how he directs everyone. Even the civilians are following his lead. And he gets right into the window. He directs the bat swing that took out the window. He threw the pipe bomb."

After that the area is engulfed in smoke and running and massive confusion. They could see something happening on the other side of the truck, but not what was happening.

"Can we get a look from the dash cam?" Greg asked.

"Winnie's patching it through…" Even as Jules answered, one of the screens took on a greyish hue and they were suddenly seeing through the passenger window of the truck.

They watched as the masked man swung the bat, sending shattering glass through the cab. They could see movement from the side as Spike dove for cover just off the side of the frame. They watched as a masked man ran up to the broken window, waving others back. Unaware of the dash cam, he looked right at it.

"Freeze that frame!" Sam spoke quicker than the others, his sniper reflexes snapping on the close up of the man who seemed to have been directing the movements around the truck.

Jules hit the right keys and the four of them stood there, staring at the picture of a man dressed head to toe in black with a black bandanna covering most of his face.

Sam frowned. "Looks like everyone else in the crowd."

"Problem with these Black Block strategies." Greg pointed out.

Jules agreed. "Can't single anyone out, or they just drop the black gear and blend right in with the civilians."

"Except…" Greg tapped the screen. "The scar. See the scar across his eyebrow?"

Wordy jumped at the sliver of a clue. "Use facial recognition and see where else that scar shows up. See if he's been picked up before, has a record…" he turned to look for the man who would usually do that job, only to remember…

Spike!

"Winnie." Greg told him. Winnie was no Spike, but she had her fair amount of computer skills. She could do what was needed.

Jules nodded. "There's another way." She looked up at Greg. "I can go down there with them."

Sam shook his head. "They'll be on you in an instant…"

"Not if I'm one of them." She quickly returned, never looking away from Greg.

Greg eyed her. "Undercover?"

"Dress all in black, slip into the crowd, sniff out the leaders…" Jules was rising to her feet, not really excited with the idea, but confident in it. "We can learn more down there among them than we'll ever learn up here, watching everything happening on camera."

Greg felt a stab in his chest in letting any of them out of his sight again. He had to remind himself that they weren't children, his children. Each and every member of Team One was a highly trained and, if the need arose, lethal officer of the law.

He should know.

He trained them.

Greg looked at his team leader, Sam.

Sam was frowning. "It's a risk…" he started, but he wasn't saying no.

"Yea,"Jules agreed, "but, let's face it: who brings only one pipe bomb to a riot?"

Letting his breathe out in a sigh, Greg nodded. "Sam, get up on the roof and watch her back. Wordy, find the Buteaus and talk to them. See what you can learn, but don't push. We're going to need open lines of communication with them… and not just today. The city will need both sides talking to each other to recover from all of…" he waved a hand at the riot displayed on the multitude of screens on the tables. "…all of this."

Focused, aimed, and moving, SRU Team One leaped to the task of trying to save their friend and the city they lived.

0o0o0o0o0

(A/N: this plays a little rough to me, but if I kept reading and rewriting I would never get anything posted again. So, please read and offer feed back. Let me know how I'm doing: good, bad, "We hate you for all your live long days!".

Thanks-The Chronicler

Another A/N: Just added a line or two and reposted.)


	3. Chapter 3

Good Cop for Good Cop

by The Chronicler

0o0o0o0o0

Constable Bill Greely looked at Ed and admitted with all honesty "I can't remember the last time someone was glad to see me." But then he remembered. "Except one person." He dug his cell phone out of his pocket. "My wife. She's been my rock through all of this."

Ed nodded, knowing the feeling. "How has this been on them?"

As Bill put the phone to his ear, waiting for that magical voice, he told him "It's been rough. She's had trouble at work. My son was beaten up at school." He frowned at the phone. "She's not answering." He mumbled.

"Huh." Ed prepared a list in his head, excuses as to why she might not be answering, excuses that wouldn't send Bill over the edge.

He was saved by a voice in his com. "Ed, they've found Spike! They're bringing him up."

Ed closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh of relief. "Thank god."

Bill smiled at him. "Good news. Don't think I could handle it if a cop got nailed 'cause of me." He offered his fellow officer a congratulating pat on the shoulder before nodding back to the courtroom.

When he and Ed returned to the room, team One was in a good mood, despite still being busy trying to nail down the leaders of the riot.

"How's our guy?" Ed wanted to know.

"We're about to find out." Greg answered.

"Not too bad, apparently." Sam offered. "Walked right up to some riot cop and asked to be taken to his leader." He chuckled, shaking his head, always amazed at their man's ability to just turn up with a smile.

The front door of the courtroom opened and in came the very proud of himself Tim, commander of the riot police. He stepped aside and held the door open for a man in an SRU uniform, head down, shaggy hair sticking out from under his helmet, MP-5 rifle dangling from the hook on the front of his vest.

"Boss…" Wordy started, but the rest of the team already saw what he had seen.

Sam and Jules both pulled their hand guns, taking aim at the SRU officer.

"Hey! Hey!" Tim yelled, hands coming up. "What the hell?"

"Put the gun down!" Sam was ordering as he moved in on the new comer. "Gun down!"

Ed pulled Bill behind him as Jules and Wordy moved in from either side, ordering the man to drop his weapon.

"Seriously!" Tim was yelling at them. "What the hell!" But Jules grabbed his arm and jerked him out of the way, keeping her gun trained on the SRU officer.

The figure held his hands up and away from his body as Sam reached him and unclipped the rifle from his vest. He raised his head and peered up at him from under a helmet way too big for him. "Man, you guys downing some serious Timmy's." He chuckled. "Try some decaf."

Handing the gun back to Wordy, Sam demanded "Who are you? Where did you get this gear?"

"What the hell do you mean…" Tim was still yelling.

The stranger spread his hands, looking from one to the other. "What? Don't I look familiar?"

Wordy looked over the rifle before placing it on the table behind him. He nodded to Greg. "It's Spike's gear." He confirmed.

Greg felt his heart skip a beat. Licking his lips he looked at the young man in his officer's gear. "Sam, bring him in." he said almost softly.

Sam and Wordy took the imposter in hand, patting him down, stripping him of the body armor and uniform jacket, before escorting him into the room. Sam handed Greg a cell phone. "Not Spike's." he told him.

Greg held up the phone, eyeing the imposter. "So… you have a message?" he guessed.

The man smiled. "Smart man." He glanced at Bill who had stepped out from behind Ed. His eyes narrowed with a sudden hate.

Greg stepped in his line of sight. "What do I call you?"

The man took another breathe, trying to see the object of his hate, but, unable to, returned to the matter at hand. "Ronin. You can call me Ronin. Message is on the phone."

Greg licked his lips. He almost didn't want to look. Afraid to look.

"In video." Ronin urged. He looked at the others. "Crowd in. You're all gonna wanna see this."

Greg opened the phone, went to the correct app, and…

A cry came from the phone.

Greg almost dropped it.

Jules paled. "Was… was that… Spike?" she whispered, but the second scream was enough of an answer. She closed her eyes, turning her head.

"Son of a bitch." Ed snarled, taking a step forward, but stopped himself with another scream. He didn't really want to see this.

"Boss…?" Wordy whispered, pleading for the man he trusted most in the world to tell him it wasn't Spike, that it wasn't their team mate, that it was just some movie clip, some stupid horror flick or something so stupid… something not Spike!

Sam slammed his fist in the table, before spinning about and taking a menacing step toward the imposter. "Where is he? Tell me where the hell is he?" he roared.

Greg forced his eyes away from the phone. "Sam." He spoke softly, but it was enough to bring his team leader back.

Another scream cut off in the middle ending the scene.

Greg closed the phone and looked at the imposter.

Ronin glanced at the cops with nervous eyes. It was all good and glory when he walked in. Sure, he was going to jail. Been there, done that. That's why he volunteered for this job. Jail was nothing to him.

But seeing their faces, seeing the color drain, the horror, the rush of rage…

Ronin had to wonder if he was actually gonna see the jail. Still, the job, the mission at hand…

"He's alive. He's not who we want." He assured. He leaned to the side, telling them exactly who they wanted when he looked directly at Bill. "'Course, eye for an eye… if not the right cop, any cop…"

"Son of a bitch!" This time it was Bill Greely who snapped. Ed grabbed his arm before he could charge the imposter, but it wasn't enough to silence him. "You're gonna kill an innocent man for what? For what? A judge said it! I did nothing wrong! Nothing!"

"Bill…" Ed cautioned.

"What the hell?" Bill jerked his arm free. "Fine! You let him go and you can have me!"

"No!" Ed growled. Grabbing Bill's arm again, he half pushed, half dragged him from the room, leaving Team One to handle the hostage taker.

Greg glanced back at the closing door. Slowly he sat down and waved a hand, indicating Ronin to come forward. "Would you like to sit?" he offered.

The imposter frowned, wondering if the offer was some sort of trap. But, hell, what could a chair do? So, he grabbed the chair and spun it about. He grinned when he saw Sam stiffen, hand on his gun, in response to the sudden move. He straddled the chair backwards, folded his arms over the back, and looked at the Sargent with a tilted head. "So?" he asked, waiting for Greg to tell them where they were going to go from here.

"So." Greg repeated. "Who's we?"

"Interested parties." Was the answer followed by a smirk. "You have what we want. We have what you want. Simple as a trade."

Greg shook his head. "You must know there is nothing simple about this."

Ronin disagreed. "Everything is simple. Life. Death. Living. Killing." He huffed. "You should know about the killing part. Isn't that what you cops specialize in?" he glanced up at Wordy then Sam. "Snipers? Long distant murderers?"

"No." Greg corrected, his tone slow and easy going. "The job of police is to keep the peace…"

"Job of the police is to enforce the will of the all might power!" Ronin jerked to his feet, ignoring Sam's and Wordy's instant readiness. "People should not be afraid of the government! The Government should be afraid of the people!" Ronin threw a fist in the air and chanted at the top of his lungs "Fight the Power! Not the people!"

Greg leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, looking up at the sudden raging man.

When no one grabbed him or tried to force him down again, Ronin found himself standing, fist in air, feeling a little foolish. So, he let his hands drop to his side. Since no one was actually fighting him, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to procede. "Okay, guys, so you're not riot cops. I get it. You're smarter. Brains over brawn." He dropped back into the chair. "Here's something for your brain to turn over: Send Mister Bill Greely, murderer, killer of children, out, on his own. As soon as he is taken into custody by righteous authorities, your man will be released. If this is done before five o'clock, all is well. If not…" He paused for effect, again glancing at the men who stood on either side of him. "Well, let's just say… Scarlatti's not gonna feel a whole hall of a lot like laughing it off."

0o0o0o0o0

His feet were cold.

So cold they hurt.

He shivered, sending ripples through his body, muscles, cold and stiff, aching in protest.

He groaned.

"You… you okay?" came a far away voice.

Spike tried to take a deep breath, but his chest was tight and sore. All he could muster was a coughing gasp.

Even the air was cold.

He felt something soft, heavy wrap around his feet.

Forcing his eyes open, Spike looked down to see a hooded head with puppy dog ears tuck a wool coat around his feet.

He glanced up at the constable, big, dark eyes peering over the top of a black bandanna. "Not much. Sorry. Ronin took your boots." He offered.

Spike blinked down at him. "Th… thanks." He managed through chattering teeth. "It… helps… really." True. Just warming his feet was easing the shivering.

The boy backed away to a pipe against the far wall. Sitting on it, he pulled his knees to his chest and watched his prisoner from a safe distance. "I… thought, maybe, you wouldn't wake up." He admitted almost to himself. "Pip, she was really angry. Never saw her that mad before." His voice trailed off like there was more he wanted to say, but knew he shouldn't.

Spike blinked again. "Pip." He breathed.

That's right, that's what they called the girl, the girl with the… Spike winced… cattle prod. She tortured him with a cattle prod!

Spike closed his eyes, trying to force the memory out of his head.

"Um…" he sorted through his head. "Hey… they called you, what? Dog?"

The boy nodded slightly.

"Dog, huh?" Spike licked his lips. "Cute nick name. My buddies… they call me Spike." When the boy looked at him with a tilted head, Spike smiled. "Yea, I had this hair thing goin' on…" He moved his hand to indicate his hair, but the hand cuffs jerked his writs back in place. The cold steel cut in to his flesh, sending trickles of blood down his bare arms. The discovery of the cuffs brought clear more memories. They had chained him up, his shoulders ached from hanging from his arms for so long. His socked feet were tied to the floor.

Taking another coughing breath, giving way to a dull, pulsing ache across his back, Spike leaned his head against the cold pipe he was tied to. "Um… hey, buddy… think you could get me loose here, for a few? My shoulders are killing me." He tried, giving the boy his most innocent look.

But Dog wasn't buying it. "Yosh said I shouldn't talk to you. You SRU guys… you're sneaky."

"Yosh? He the boss?" Spike tried. "Thought Anarchists didn't do the whole boss thing."

Dog looked at him, his brow wrinkled in a frown. He didn't answer for a long time.

"Dog?"

The boy shrugged. "Don't matter none. I don't have the key anyway."

Spike frowned himself. Training… yea, he was trained to think through these things. He had to think.

If the boy didn't have the key, then someone else was expected to come back and let him loose. Or, no one was expected to let him loose. Maybe they would tell his team where he was… That is when and if they got what they wanted.

Which doesn't really work.

SRU's usual job was convincing folks that they weren't gonna get what they want how they were going about getting it…

Spike closed his eyes again, the dull ache turning into a thud as his heart quickened.

Swallowing down his fear, Spike looked at the boy again. "How'd you get that name, huh? Dog?"

The boy looked at him for a moment, then looked away with a shrug. ":They used to tease me, callin' me Dog 'stead of D…" He stopped, glancing sharply, suspiciously at Spike. "Instead of my name… 'cause I was always following Pip and Luc about. But Luc was nice and he taught me a lot of stuff. And he said… he told me dogs were tough and loyal and could always be counted on… man's best friend! That's me!" His eyes squinted, a proud smile.

"So… you knew Luc, huh? You're a bit younger than he was, aren't you?"

More information.

Information is strength.

Keep the kid talking.

Find common ground.

Make a connection.

Because that worked so damn well the first time around.

"Luc helped me. He was helping me with science. He was real smart." Dog sniffed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"You miss him." Spike observed. Honestly, truly feeling for the kid. He knew what it was like to lose a good friend. Worse. Knew what it was to have a friend taken away.

"Yea." Dog whispered. He sniffed loudly. "I'm not supposed to be talking to you." He declared, scooting around until his back was to Spike.

0o0o0o0o0

Jules looked up as the door behind her opened. She shook her head slightly in warning. "Don't try to talk me out of this."

Ed held out his coat. "Just appropriating for the cause." He offered.

She took the offering and pulled it over her shoulders. "Thanks." Snuggling into the bog coat, she took a moment. Licking her lips, she looked up at Ed. "Spike…" she started.

But Ed shook his head. "Don't. Stay focused. Don't let yourself get distracted." He waited until she nodded once, then handed her a cell phone. "Disposable cell phone. Get the intel, get out. Sam will be on the roof watching."

Jules nodded again. "Yea." She zipped up the coat and pulled the hood over her head. "How do I look?"

Ed shrugged. "Like an Anarchist hoodlum."

She smiled. "Wish me luck." Then she was slipping out the door and into the chaos outside the court house.

0o0o0o0o0


	4. Chapter 4

(A/N: so, another chapter. I've lost my copy of Good Cop, so I'm trying to keep it in tune all by memory. Feedback desperately needed. And, oh, thanks so much for all the feedback so far!~~ The Chronicler)

0o0o0o0o0

Good Cop for Good Cop

Ch. 4

by The Chronicler

0o0o0o0o0

A police car laid on its side, flames roaring from its shattered windows as the interior burned.

"Fight the power! Not the People! Fight the Power! Not the People!" was chanted by protesters, arms linked in unity of body and goal.

Rioters took a less unified role, hidden behind black masks, throwing eggs and stones, threats and insults, challenging the black wall of Riot Cops like they were an invading enemy army.

The Riot Cops stood ridged, towering over the mostly young rioters, stone faced to the insults, wincing only slightly at the eggs.

Fire and smoke, shouting and screaming, crashing and shattering…

From his roof top perch, to Sam it looked like a war zone.

He should know.

He'd seen plenty of war zones in his time.

Blinking his eyes, rubbing them clear, Sam focused himself, keeping himself on target. He peered through his scope, easily spotting Jules.

Even dressed up in Black Block Garb, he would know her figure, her presence anywhere, even in a war zone.

He chuckled when he saw her challenging one of the giant Riot Cops. "I don't know what Jules is saying, but she's sure earning street cred." He let the others know.

He could see her hold up a phone, taking pictures.

He stiffened when he saw the cop slap at her, throwing the phone away. But he pushed his angry aside, reminding himself that this was what they wanted; they wanted her to be one of them.

A rioter leaped to her defense, and Sam almost found himself liking the spunky, little, unnamed Anarchist. The figure was standing up for Jules, jumping on the big cop's back, pushing him, defending her fellow rioter.

It was a sight to see… considering the little Anarchist was defending a cop.

Sam was about to offer another chuckle and commentary on the situation when an unmistakable sound ripped through the air.

Gun fire!

Sam flinched. "Jules…" he hissed, but she never left his sight. Even as the crowd began to run and scream, pushing and fleeing… he never lost sight of Jules.

Even as that ass of a Riot Cop grabbed her and slammed her down across the hood of a car, hand cuffed her, dragged her towards the Jail Truck.

"Anyone have eyes on the shooter?" he heard Greg called over the headset.

"Too much running and screaming." Wordy reported from his position among the Riot Cops. "All hell's broken loose, but… no one down… so far."

"Nothing... I think it was a shot in the air… but Jules is being arrested." Sam reported. "Should we intervene?"

"Is she hurt?"

"No." Sam admitted.

"Then let her be. Maybe she can find out more from the detainees." Greg's calm while everything else was running, screaming, rioting, and, basically, un-calm was a powerful weapon. It was all he needed to keep his people focused and in control. "Get down here, Sam. We've gotta find that gun!"

Sam hesitated, watching as Jules disappeared into the bus with the rest of the detainees. With a wordless grumble, Sam straightened. With a last look at the war zone below, he picked up his rifle and headed back into the building.

0o0o0o0o0

Bob Greely glared at the kid handcuffed to a chair in the corner. "You're killing an innocent man." He told him.

Ronin shrugged. "I'm just the messenger, man. I got no say in who's killing who. 'Sides, you really gonna call that soldier innocent?" he chuckled. "Come on, man. Least you all can be straight with each other. You're all the big, bad arm of the all mighty Power!"

"I! AM! A! GOOD! COP!" Bob roared.

"Hey, buddy." Ed quickly stepped between the officer and the prisoner. "Come on. Let's take it to the other room."

Bob shook his head. "This isn't right. They want me. You should let me go. Get your man back…"

Ed shook his head. "No. We don't trade in lives. You know that." He glanced down at the cell phone he had in his hand. He had just spent the last five minutes on it. Now he had information for Bob. "Come on. Let's talk." He took him by the arm and lead him out of the room.

0o0o0o0o0

"Hey, he got you pretty good. I'm Maddie."

Jules looked over the back of the seat at the girl who had been dragged in with her. "J.C." she answered. She winced as the bruise along her lower jaw made itself known. She worked her jaw, feeling it pop.

Well, at least it added to her persona of a bad ass Anarchist.

But, if she ever got that Riot Cop on the other end of a hand-to-hand demonstration…

"I haven't seen you before." Maddie started up a conversation, comparing past protests, exchanging scars…

A name, a person Maddie started to talk about caught Jules attention.

"She started hanging around, talking about this case, always about that cop… Got Yosh here treating us like spear carriers in his own personal Yosh army. Appointed himself leader…" Maddie was saying.

"That doesn't sound very… Anarchist." Jules observed, prodding for more information.

Yosh. This might be the leader they had been looking for.

"I know! I mean… like, hello! Anarchist!" She shook her head. "But, you know, ask me… she's the one who's dangerous."

Jules frowned. "Why's that?"

Maddie shrugged. "I mean, we're all about fighting the Power, but Pip… she's completely focused on this one case. Not about the screwed up system or the Power kicking us around… All she talks about is this one case, about Greely and that Buteau kid… Yosh says she has a strong vision. You ask me, more like obsession. Think she'll do anything to get her hands on Greely."

The SRU constable raised her chin. "She the one who took that cop?"

Maddie hesitated, her eyes narrowing. "How'd you know about that?" she wondered, her voice suddenly low and suspicious.

Jules ignored her question as she pushed herself to her feet and made her way to the front of the bus. "Hey!" she challenged the officer standing on the other side of the gate. "Sect. 12F states incarcerated subjects cannot be denied basic human needs" She flashed him her badge, being sure to keep it low and out of sight of the other detainees, keeping eye contact with the officer, making sure he understood. "I gotta take a leak."

His eyes narrowed, but then widened. Quickly he escorted her out.

On the ground, Jules phoned Greg. "Boss, not about hating the state; it's about hating Greely."

0o0o0o0o0

"This is insane!" Bob huffed as he paced the room. "I should be doing something! I should be helping… what's his name?"

"Scarlatti… Spike." Ed answered. When gave him that look he always got when introducing Spike, he explained "He had a hair thing going on." He shook his head as if to say that even he had no further explanation.

"Spike… he doesn't deserve to go down for me. No one should go down for me!" Bob was insisting. He looked at his cell phone. "Where is she?" he hissed. "Let her know…" He looked up at Ed. "I'm not going anywhere 'til we get your man back!"

Ed took a deep breath. "Bob… first off… she and the kids are alright."

Bob smiled a little, though his confusion was impossible to hide. "You talked to her?"

Ed licked his lips. "We'll get you to the airport… but she's not coming."

The man shook his head, confused. "What… what do you mean? She's leaving me?"

"No… maybe she just thinks some time alone would be, you know, a good idea here." Ed tried. "It's been hard on her…"

Bob glared at him in disbelief. "Now I'm running free, here, guess she wants to do the same." He growled.

"Bob, man, listen to me. Not too long ago, here, my wife left me. Things were hard on us and I had all my focus on work." Ed offered.

"Hell of a wakeup call." Bob grumbled as he leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling very alone, very weak…

"Point is, we took some time apart. I got my head on straight. We remembered why we were together… and now we are again." Ed took a step toward him. "She just needs some time. Time to get herself straight. Time for you to get yourself straight…

Bob held up a hand, begging him to stop… just stop.

It was too much. The whole year coming crashing down on him and his strength, his rock had just walked out the door.

Everything he had stood for, everything he had fought for, everything… It had all been for them!

What good was his freedom without his family?

What good was his life without them?

What good was his life if cost another man his?

He squeezed his eyes close. "Just… just give me a second… please."

Ed sighed, feeling rather helpless. Licking his lips, he turned and stepped just outside the door.

0o0o0o0o0

Greg Parker watched the young man sitting calmly in the chair across the table from him.

Ronin just gazed about like some bored kid looking for something to do.

Greg took a deep breath, sorting through his array of strategy, trying to decide how best to approach…

… break! What he wanted to do was break this little punk, sitting, twiddling his thumbs, bored with life while his officer, his friend was somewhere, hurt, in danger, maybe even…

… he let his breath out slowly, composing himself. "Who is Pip?" he asked.

Ronin glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. With a huff, he shrugged and went back to looking around.

Greg looked very stern. "Do you have any idea what the consequences of kidnapping a police officer is? Of threatening one?"

"Dude, you're not gonna scare me." Ronin actually smiled. "Man, I've done jail time in the States. You know what they do to protesters in, like, Texas or Arkansas? Hell, you guys don't even have a death penalty! You Canooks are pussycats."

Greg pursed his lips. "So… you have a record in that States." He touched his headpiece. "Winnie..?"

"On it, boss. Sending his prints international…"

Greg watched Ronin frown. He scratched his chin in thought. "You're not a local. This isn't personal. You came for the show." His eyes narrowed. "So, who's directing the show? Pip?"

Ronin barked out a laugh. "That is one bag full of nuts!" he answered with a shake of his head.

"So… you get your marching orders from Yosh." Greg pursed his lips, thinking, working it out. Jules was on the com now as she joined up with Sam and Wordy, filling him in on what she had learned. "One of his spear carriers. Yosh brings the muscle, but it's Pip who's directing him. It's her who's at the center of this. Everyone else, everything else is just a means to an end." He looked at Ronin. "Thank you."

Ronin looked at him in disbelief. "For what?"

"Winnie, how's that facial going on our eye-brow scar?" Greg asked, turning his attention to the computers.

"He's popped up all over North America, protests of all sorts. Think I have an arrest in Oregon, but… it'd go a lot faster if Spike…" Winnie's voice cracked.

Greg closed his eyes. Softly, he answered her "I know, Winnie, I know."

"Sorry, sir. I'll… send you what I have. Possible name, pictures…"

"Good. That's good." Greg nodded, more to himself, hearing her refocus. Still… "Hey, Winnie?"

"Yes, sir?"

"We're gonna get our boy back." He promised. He knew he shouldn't. But he needed to hear it as much as he knew she needed to.

She hesitated, before answering "Never doubted it, sir."

"Good girl." Greg whispered.

0o0o0o0o0

The pounding in his ears had taken on a deep base sound, each beat vibrating through his skull. He wasn't sure if the base was what was setting his teeth chattering or if it was the wet cold that seemed to have seeped right through his t-shirt, through skin and muscle, attacking the very bone of his abused body.

"You okay?"

Spike forced his heavy lids open to see the boy standing just a few feet away. He tried to smile, but even the muscles in his face seemed stiff and achy. "Yea…" he managed. "Never better."

"You don't look so great." Dog mumbled. He worked his jaw, trying to figure out what he should do. "You… you want some soda or something? I have some chips." He held out a crumpled bag.

Spike blinked at the offering.

He couldn't quite get this kid; help kidnap him, watched his friends torture him, and, now, trying to take care of him!?

Dog.

Tough, loyal, always c counted on, man's best friend…

He didn't want to be here. He was trying to be loyal to the only friend he ever had, the only one who ever stood up for him, looked after him…

The friend he lost to a bullet shot by a cop.

Spike managed a smile. "Little… water?" he asked.

"Huh." Dog turned back to his backpack that sat on a pipe in the corner. "You sure don't much about kids, do you?"

The SRU officer tried to shrug, but his shoulders protested, burned, from being cuffed so high above his head. "Guess not." He answered.

Dog dug out a soda can from his bag and returned to his prisoner. "No self-respecting teenager carries around water." He held the can out to the officer.

Spike frowned. He looked up at his cuffed hands.

Dog followed his gaze.

Police officers were trained to be careful not to close the cuffs too tight, to make sure a prisoner didn't hang from them, their weight forcing the metal bracelets chaffing skin, cutting of circulation.

Dog's friends had never been trained in the proper use of handcuffs.

Spike's fingers had a slight blue tinged. His wrists were blue with bruises, red with chafing, blood scabbing around the metal.

"Um… sorry." Dog mumbled. He stepped close, opening the can. "It's cola. You like cola?"

"Man, am I ever a caffeine junkie!" He tilted his head back so the kid could pour some of the bubbly fluid down his parched throat. One swallow, two… Spike choked, coughed.

"Sorry." Dog quickly apologized again, backing away. "You good, now?"

Spike coughed again, clearing his throat.

It did not help the pounding in his skull. Or any of the other hundreds of aches and pains through out his body.

He liked his lips and took a moment to steady his breathing. "No, Dog." He finally whispered after a moment. He looked at the boy and, with all the honestly and genuine feelings he had, he told the boy "I am not good. I've been beaten, electrocuted, froze half to death… Do you know what they are going to do to me?"

Dog looked away. "Let you go." He tried to assure. "Soon's they give up that killer cop…"

"Dog, look at me."

The boy did, his bottom lip trembling.

"Dog, the SRU does not trade in human life!" Spike told him with absolute certainty. "They will not give you what you want. Five o'clock is going to come rolling around and, if my team hasn't already captured them, your friends are going… to… kill… me!"

Dog shook his head. "Yosh says they'll look after their own. They'll save you."

"Dog! The SRU will not sacrifice another to save one of our own!" Spike snapped.

"They will if they don't want you dead!" Dog barked back.

Spike looked at him for a moment before asking "And you're okay with that?"

The boy glared at him for a long, silent moment. Then, suddenly, he threw the soda can at Spike, hitting him in the hip. "Shut up! Shut up!" he screamed. Spinning about, he leaped back to his seat in the corner. "You don't know nothing!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Grinding his teeth at the new pain, Spike cursed under his breath. Another damn bruise! Growling, he told the boy "I know you, Dog, whatever you think. I know you can't live with what they're going to do to me." He told the boy.

The only response was Dog kicking the wall as he twisted about until his back was firmly directed at his prisoner.

With a groan, Spike dropped his head against the pipe he was cuffed to.

He was beginning to think, maybe, just perhaps, he really was going to die.

0o0o0o0o0


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So, back again. Wanted to thank everyone so very much for the feedback. It really helps to know that someone out there in the great internet yonder is actually reading my stuff... without ears bleeding and/or heads exploding. Please, please, please keep it up. More feedback!

~~The Chronicler

0o0o0o0o0

Jules directed their teammates through the crowd. "Black motorcycle helmet, Mohawk. Molotov cocktail."

"Got 'im!" came Sam's quick reply. He and Wordy pounced on the figure, snatching away the home-made bomb and handing it off to a Riot Cop who was backing them up.

The crowd seemed a little confused as their unelected leader was seized and quickly hauled out of sight behind the wall of Riot Cops. There was a hesitation.

A hesitation the Riot Cops were quick to take advantage of, surging forward, seizing stones in the Black Block. As key leaders were removed, organization crumbled and the riot began to lose power.

"Sam… Sam, wait a minute." Wordy stopped, spotting something in the crowd.

"What is it?" Sam grumbled, little irritated with stopping among all this, little concerned with why Wordy would have stopped them.

"I gotta take care of something." Wordy told him. "You got this?" He jerked his head to a uniform, indicating he should accompany Sam and their prisoner.

"Yea, yea. Go."

Wordy nodded. "Meet you up top." He hurried through the crowd control to where a couple were being ushered toward the Jail Truck.

"What crimes have we committed?" demanded a very loud Jean Paul Buteau as a Riot Cop pushed and shoved him into the door of the bus.

"We've done nothing!" Regine Buteau complained.

"Woe, woe, woe!" Wordy halted the Riot Police who were escorting the couple. "I got it, guys. Thanks." He dismissed the officers with half a nod and half a glare, before turning his attention to the couple. "Mr. Buteau, Mrs. Buteau, I'm very sorry. They didn't know who you are."

"An apology is not enough!" Jean Paul snapped, glaring at the SRU officer as he lead them away from the Jail Truck.

"Jean Paul, please…" his wife pleaded with him.

"No. No!" Jean Paul raged. "They think to silence me! To forget! Forget me! Forget Luc! No!"

"Sir." Wordy tried to calm him. "Sir, there is nothing I can say that will ever make up for the loss of your son." He admitted. "But this chaos… this is just putting more people in harm's way. Please, sir, take your wife home. Stay safe. Stay…"

"Silent?!" the father snarled.

"Jean Paul!" Regine cried. She turned to face him, placing her hands on his chest. "Let us go! Be away. I do not want to be here. This…" she waved a hand at the world around them. "This is not right." She reverted to her native language as she pleaded with him, pulling on his coat, begging him to go with her.

"Regine… would you have me forget… forgive!... what they have done?" His eyes snapped up, slamming almost as if a physical blow at Wordy. "Never! I will never forget! I will never be silent! This is not over!"

"Sir, I'm not asking you to." Wordy assured. "I'm only asking that you take your wife home. It isn't safe. People have already been hurt. Spike… an SRU officer, a friend of mine, has been taken by some of the rioters."

"Oh, no…" Regine breathed, her fingers covering her mouth as she turned shocked eyes up at her husband. "Please, Jean Paul…" she whispered. "This is not right…"

"Right?" he snarled. He gazed down at her and, in her eyes, he was suddenly reminded of the pain of a parent who's lost a child, an only child. He remembered that pain. He couldn't stand that pain. He buried that pain down deep under a world of anger. And, by god, he would not unbury it now! "Right?" he repeated, moving his wife to the side so he could turn his anger on the officer in front of him. "This officer… this friend of yours… is he you son? Your only child?"

Wordy hesitated. "He's my friend."

Jean Paul stepped so close so suddenly that Wordy stiffened, ready to defend himself. But the father didn't strike him. He simply snarled, low and full of hurt and anger, "When it is your child taken, then you talk to me." With nothing left to be said, Jean Paul took his wife's arm and escorted her through the crowd toward the parking lot.

Wordy sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. He couldn't help but think of his little girls safe and sound at home.

What hell would it be if one of them had ever been hurt…

He simply could not fathom losing one.

Turning away from both thought and crowd, Wordy waved to a Uni. "Make sure they get to their car without any trouble." He told him before continuing into the courthouse.

0o0o0o0o0

Ed bounced his head back against the wall.

This was supposed to have been easy.

Go in, say what needed to be said, and get out.

Out quick before regret and hesitation got him turned around and…

Oh, but he wanted one last thrill. A babysitting detail. Piece of cake. What could happen?

Besides a riot?

Spike being kidnapped and tortured?

He was trying real hard not to hear Sophie's voice in his head… worse: his voice promising her… when Sam's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hey, Ed, where's Greely?" Sam asked as he escorted a rioter up the steps and toward the courtroom where Greg had set up the command post.

Ed jerked his head toward the door behind him. Then he eyed the prisoner. "This our guy?" When Sam tapped his eyebrow, Ed nodded. "I'll be in in a moment." He assured, before turning and stepping back into the room he had left. "Bob, buddy, sorry, but we have to go…" he stopped himself.

The room was empty.

"Bob? Bob Greely?" Ed called, turning slowly, scanning every inch of the room, tilting his head to see under chairs and tables. The only answer was an echo of his own voice. "Officer Greely!" he snapped louder, just in case the man was, for whatever stupid reason he could possibly come up with, hiding.

And then he saw the door. Across the room, slightly ajar…

Ed rushed across the room, knocking the door open.

It was a back stairwell, plain, overlooked, disregarded because it had been locked and secured. It could only be opened from the inside.

So, Bob hadn't been taken.

Bob left.

"Oh, damn." Ed growled at himself. "Damn, damn, damn…" He touched his head set. "Boss, we got a problem."

"Talk to me, Eddy."

"Greely took off." Ed informed him as he headed down the stairs. "Back stairs. Think they lead to the garage…"

0o0o0o0o0

Greg slammed his hand down on the table. He ground his teeth, biting back the curse words at the tip of his tongue. His team was bad off as is… a team mate taken, tortured, held for death; a crowd of black clad hoodlums outside wanting nothing more than to beat each and every one of them down… they didn't need to hear him lose it.

Taking a deep breath, steading himself, Greg prepared himself for the next step.

…whatever the hell that was going to be…

Straightening up, he looked at Jules.

She looked up at him in that calm, patient way of hers, waiting for him to tell her what he needed. But, no matter how steady, how reliable, how dependable she always was, her eyes were just wide enough to tell him… she was scared.

Greg forced a lopsided smile, letting his head bob. "Okay… okay… Jules, use the security cameras. Find him." He told her.

"Yup." She answered, instantly turning to the task before her, working the computers.

Greg watched her a moment, his mind, for just an instant, going to that place… how odd it was for her to be there where Spike would usually be… but then the door opened and Sam escorted their latest party guest into the room.

Sam shoved him a little less than gently in a seat at the table. With a whack at the back of the helmet, he ordered "Take it off!"

The Mohawk helmet turned up to him. Then, with a whatever shrug, black gloved hands reached up and pulled the helmet off.

Sam took the helmet and tossed it aside.

Greg couldn't miss the eyebrow scar. "Mr. Joshua LeClair, nice to meet you."

"Yosh." The young man corrected.

"Whatever." Sam growled.

Greg glanced at Sam, reminding him restraint. "Yosh then. I'm Sergeant Greg Parker of the SRU."

Yosh huffed. "Whatever."

Greg smiled slightly. He flipped through a handful of photos a moment, before tossing them on the table in front of the young man. "You've been a busy little Anarchist." He observed. "Seattle, New York, G-22…"

"You can't prove a thing!" the man snapped.

"Actually, that scar of yours is a pretty good identifier." Greg pointed out. He dropped down in the chair across from Yosh. He watched him, the lazy way he glanced over his shoulder, eyes squinting when he saw Spike's gear, the way he quickly looked away again, the way he crossed his arms over his chest, foot tapping, stop tapping, eyes snapping back to look back at Greg without actually looking at him...

He was nervous. But playing cool. Challenging even.

No, not challenging.

Daring!

He was daring Greg to pull out the pepper spray. He was waiting for the bad cop act to prove to him that he was right, that all pigs were brutish, violent thugs of the corrupt government.

Greg leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, you didn't know Luc, did you?" he asked matter of factly.

Yosh's eyes narrowed. "Don't need to know a man to know his murder is wrong." He growled.

"But Pippy knew him, didn't she?" Greg paused to watch the rioter's eyes widen. He leaned forward. "Yosh, you know Pippy isn't thinking straight right now. That was you pulling her off of my officer, wasn't it?"

The young man popped his jaw, looking away. "You think about what you're pig friend is doing right now? Locked away with her? You think he's trying to talk her out of hurting him again? Out of killing him if she doesn't get Greely?"

Greg almost flinched. "Actually, I've been thinking about that a lot." He admitted. "More so, I've been thinking a lot of what we might have to do to stop her."

"Boss." Jules interrupted softly.

Greg leaned back to look at the screen she was tilting his direction.

It was video of the parking garage. Greely was unlocking his car. A girl appeared with a gun…

… Spike's gun!

… aimed it at his head, silently yelling at him. She threatened the officer into his truck, got in the passenger side. Then they were gone.

"Get Ed back here. And get Winnie on the traffic cams. See if she can follow them." Greg told her.

Yosh smirked. "She got him." It wasn't a question.

Greg leaned forward again, and, with a tilt of his head, he noted "And we have you."

Yosh shrugged, looking away with the same old whatever attitude. Just another punk who could take the worse any cop dished out. But, just a breath later, he licked his lips.

"Huh." Greg observed.

And he watched.

0o0o0o0o0

He jerked awake.

"oh." He groaned when his eyes burned from the slight, flickering light. He allowed his heavy lids slide close again, thinking he'd just let them close for a moment… just a moment… just one, little….

No! Spike's brain screamed so loud within his head, he was sure he had blown his own eardrums. His eyes shot open again, and, this time, he forced them to stay open.

He couldn't fall asleep!

He had to stay awake!

He had to stay alive!

Again! Take stock…

Cracked, maybe broken, ribs.

Head wound… did they hit him with a bat?

Couldn't feel his fingers, his feet… That wasn't good.

Wrists cut from hanging from the cuffs, his elbows popping, his shoulders aching, but no longer burning.

Huh. With as much of him that had gone numb, he'd have thought he'd have been thankful. But, no, he knew just enough field medic stuff to know, when things go numb, then he was in trouble.

Have to stay awake!

Have to stay awake!

Spike glanced across the dark room to where Dog sat.

The boy still had his back to him, his knees pulled up to his chest, face hidden in folded arms. He looked like a sad, lost puppy, with the floppy ears of his hood dangling on either side of his head.

Swallowing, trying to moisten his parched throat, Spike asked "What… what was he like?"

Dog glanced over his shoulder sharply. For a breath he looked confused, but, then, remembering he was supposed to hate his prisoner, he forced out a glare. "What who was like?"

"Luc." Spike tried to shrug and immediately regretted the attempt. Again swallowing, he took a moment to catch his breath, before saying "If I'm gonna die for someone, I'd like to know who that someone was."

Dog frowned. "You're not going to die." He groaned like he was tired of hearing about it. Still, he turned around, straddling the pipe he was using as a seat. "Luc was cool." He started slowly. "Didn't care if you were the fastest kid in class or the slowest. He looked after everyone. Like… like he was everybody's big brother." He smiled to himself, his eyes glazing over with memories. "When I was a kid, me and Pip, we were… you know… on our own."

Spike frowned. "Where's your parents?" he wondered.

Dog shrugged. "Good question. You'll let me know if you figure it out, won't ya?" He huffed like it had been the dumbest question ever to be asked. But then looked at Spike. "Don't know about Pippy's parents. She don't talk about them… ever!" He looked away again. "Luc… he was like, you know, got no parents? Wanna share mine? And Mr. and Mrs. Buteau was, like, wow, more kids, just what we always wanted. They never said anything about us coming over all the time, and we never had to ask for food or anything. Mrs. Buteau, she gave me this real cool coat that was so warm…" His voice trailed off as he stared off into nothing.

"They were your family." Spike observed. He suddenly remembered a time he went to dinner with Lew's parents. Sure, he had his own folks, and they were great. But Lew… he always made things… different.

Dog nodded slightly, still lost in his own memories. "Yea… I guess. Luc, he walked me to school when the street thugs tried to recruit me. He said I was better than that. That I was smart, had a future… said I could be anything I wanted to be." He smiled a little. "Pip said she never heard me talk more than a whisper before Luc. Used to tease Luc, telling him now he taught me to talk, he'd have to teach me to shut up." He stopped, tilting his head. "I believed him, you know."

"Believed what?"

"That'd I could be anything. That'd he'd always be there, helping me." He sniffed and ran the back of his hand across his eyes. "I don't anymore. I mean… he was so tough and brave… if he couldn't do it, then how could I?"

"Yea." Spike mumbled. "Yea, know how that feels."

"Yea?!" Dog huffed at him. "You don't know nothing!" he snapped.

Spike twisted in his cuffs, grinding his teeth at the pain that was a result of his movement. "I do!" he countered. "I had this friend… he was my best friend and… well, I was kinda a geek."

"Kinda?" the kid chuckled.

"Hey!" Spike protested with a smile. He was rewarded with a glance and a smile from the boy.

A connection.

Spike licked his lips and continued. "Lew… man, he was a character… you know, a buddy that always had your back. Dragged me out from behind my computer screen. Actually got to see what the night looked like without flashing lights or framed by a TV box."

Dog chuckled. "Yea. Luc took me to my first movie. It was awesome."

"Yea? Turned out the night life was pretty awesome too." Spike let his eyes drift, his own memories coming up. "Lew turned a little, jittery Roman mouse into what you see today!"

Dog rolled his head back until he was looking at the prisoner with a tilt of the head and raised eyebrows. Even with the bandanna, his smirk was obvious.

"Yea, yea, yea." Spike chuckled softly.

Dog looked at him for a moment, before asking "What happened to him?" When Spike frowned at him, he shrugged. "You used a lot of `was' and stuff. Figured he's dead."

Spike sighed. He dropped his head against the pipe and closed his eyes. For a moment he was amazed how, despite how cold the rest of him was, the cold steel on his head felt good. He hadn't realized his head was so hot. And then he remembered the question. "Yea…" he breathed. "Yea, I lost him."

"Someone killed him?"

The SRU officer glanced at the boy, a little taken back by the question. Slowly, he nodded. "Stupid thing is it wasn't his job." Spike explained. "See… bombs and stuff that goes boom… that's my job. That's what I do. But… I had another bomb and was too far away… so, Lew stepped in for me… stepped on a mine and, um…" Spike licked his lips, searching for just the right words to explain that day. He was surprised how, after all this time, his eyes still stung from the memory.

"I'm sorry." Dog whispered.

Spike looked at him again. "Yea… so am I. But, you know how you feel guilty? I mean, Lew was smart and fast and brave and had the whole world before him… and he died. Should have been me."

The boy nodded. "Luc… he had the future. Me? Just some street kid with no family, no one to miss me…"

"But that isn't right!" Spike hurried to correct him. "Luc would have been left behind feeling exactly how you are feeling now. You really want him to feel like you're feeling right now?"

Dog's eyes narrowed as he thought on that.

A creak sounded from above and a sliver of light shown down from the hatch at the top of the ladder. A black clad figure slid down the ladder, landing with a small splash.

Dog scrambled to his feet, spinning about to face the intruder. But then the intruder tossed him a donut bag. "Matt? What you doing back? Is it over?"

The intruder turned to look at their prisoner. "Not yet. But soon. Pip's on her way. She wanted to make sure I was here to… take care of things… just in case." He bounced a cattle prod on his leg, his eyes looking the officer up and down, slowly, as if picking out the best spots to hit first.

Spike stiffened. His heart suddenly picked up speed.

Dog seemed just as alarmed. "He's not causing any trouble." He hurried to point out.

Matt shrugged his heavy shoulders as he wandered over to stand directly behind Spike. "He's a cop, Dog. They get they're stripes by beating on kids like Luc… like you!" he snarled. He jabbed spike in the back with the cattle prod.

Spike grunted.

"So, everything goes right, this cop gets to live, right?" Matt jabbed him again. "Maybe we should teach him a better way to live before we let him go."

"You don't want to do this, Matt…" Spike started, his voice a little higher than he would have liked.

"Cop, you don't want to know what sort of shit I want." He chuckled, a sadistic sound the grated Spike's teeth.

"Matt…" Dog tried.

"But I'm happy to tell you all about it." And Matt switched on the cattle prod.

0o0o0o0o0


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: so, got nothing much to say, here. Maybe just some desperate begging for feedback. It really does help me write faster and better if I know how the readers feel about where the story is going and if they're getting what I'm trying to give them, what they think of the characters and yadda, yadda, yadda.

Oh, and thanks all for the feedback thus far.

~~The Chronicler

0o0o0o0o0

Constable Bill Greely glanced at the teenage girl sitting in the passenger seat of his truck. "Where we going?" he asked softly.

She didn't answer, her eyes darting about, searching every window, every corner for any obstacle to her plan. Despite her seemingly lack of focus, the gun remained steady on its target.

Greely thought he should be scared. He knew what that gun could do. He's seen it first hand at least once too often.

Saw it every night when he closed his eyes.

Boy lying on the ground, a hole blown through his chest…

Greely shook his head, forcing the image out of his head.

Maybe because he had all but been abandon by the force he had given his life to. Stripped of his colors, hidden away behind some desk and an army of lawyers, ordered to silence. He was alone, deserted, isolated, ostracized by his own people…

Even his own wife!

His wife.

His children.

His job.

His life.

All gone.

He had nothing left. He thought that the word of a judge, someone actually standing up and saying he was not guilty of any wrong doing, that he was a good cop, would have made everything right again.

He was wrong. Nothing was right. Nothing would ever be right again. There was nothing left to fight for.

Again he shook his head, angry with himself. His knuckles turned white as his fingers tightened around the steering wheel. There was a purpose to him walking out of that court house. He would not allow another to die for him. Die in his place.

Squaring his jaw, Greely spoke again, his voice tight with anger. "You have me. You can let the cop go now."

"Humph." The girl huffed.

Greely stopped at a red light. He chanced turning in his seat to look at her. "Let him go. He doesn't have anything to do with this. He's a good cop!"

Her eyes snapped about to glare at him. "Like you?" she hissed. "Good enough reason to leave him to die! Save some kid from being shot for looking at flowers!" she poked the gun at his ribs. "Shut up! Keep driving!"

"Damn it, girl!" Greely snapped. He made a desperate grab for the gun.

"No!" she screamed, jerking away and firing the gun.

Greely cried out as a bullet punched through his arm, slamming him against the driver's door. He squeezed his eyes closed against the pain and shock.

He was almost amused that she had actually pulled the trigger.

This little girl had shot him!

She stared at him with wide, frightened eyes, holding her breath, almost as if she thought he would fall over dead…. Right then and there. But, when he didn't, she swallowed hard. "Drive!" she snarled.

0o0o0o0o0

"Sarg." Jules called. "I think I found the girl."

Greg turned back to the computers as Ed crossed the room to join him.

Jules was flipping through the online yearbook for Luc's school. "If she was personally involved with Luc, and she looks, what? Sixteen, seventeen… they probably went to school together, right? Check this out."

There was a picture of young, smart, good kid Luc Buteau. And another. And another. Star of the chess club. Volunteer at the Teen Shelter. Captain of the Athlete everything. Advance class in this and in that.

"Kid was a real rising star." Greg mumbled, more than a little upset that such a bright star could be so easily shot down.

"But look who's with him in half these photos." Jules pointed out. She tapped the screen. "That's her!"

Sharing in rewards, standing proudly at his side, happy and smiling, sometimes laughing, looking like a normal, healthy teenage girl was Pip. The same girl, only a short time earlier, had planned, organized, and carried out a protest, riot, attack and kidnapping of an armed officer, torture of said officer, and then the kidnapping of another.

"Another rising star." Ed mumbled.

Greg looked at Yosh who sat in a chair across the table from them.

He quickly looked away, suddenly more interested in the walls than their discovery.

"Wordy." Greg called. "Go talk to the Buteaus. If she was in so many clubs and projects with their son, good bet they know her."

Wordy frowned, tilting his head. "Boss, they weren't too happy last time I talked to them." He warned.

Yosh huffed. "Why would they? You killed their kid!"

Greg looked at Yosh, but spoke to his man. "Talk to them, Wordy. No matter how much they hurt over their own son, they don't want to see another child die. Make them understand that we are her only way out of this. I'll be right with you. I'll help." He assured.

Wordy sighed, accepting what he had to do. As he headed out, Sam was coming in.

"Starting to wind down out there." Sam reported. "Eleven arrested, some injuries, nothing major. Think the cars took the worse of it."

"Finally." Ed breathed.

Winnie's voice came through their head sets. "I have Greely's car. Traffic cams picked him up at the corner of…"

Greg glanced over his shoulder. "Sam…"

"Jules, with me. Winnie, keep on them!" Sam ordered as he turned and headed right back out, Jules only a step behind him.

"Greg." Ed spoke softly, stepping close to his friend. "They're just chasing lights. We have to get ahead of them."

"I know, I know." Greg mumbled. Again he looked at the young Anarchist.

This time he was looking right back. He stuck his chin out and glared at the officers, set and determined to reject anything they had to offer him.

"You care about her, don't you?" Greg observed.

Yosh's eyes narrowed, but he made a show of clamping his jaw shut tight.

Which told Greg so much more than if he had ever spoke.

Greg pressed his hands on the table and leaned over it. "Yosh, do you understand what is going to happen?" He knew Ed had stepped up to his side, watching their target, seeing what he saw.

"This is not a game, son." Ed informed him. "There is no disappearing into the crowd, no moving on to the next protest. This is for keeps."

"You think we're playing?" Yosh hissed at him. "You think it's all fun and games when some trigger happy cop murders some innocent kid?"

"No." Ed answered. "But do you? One life for another? You are going to kill an innocent man to even the score? Are you going to let that girl die trying to even the score? What's going to happen next week then? You kill two cops? And the week after?"

Yosh's eyes widen a bit as he stared up at the man. Ed scared him. Worse: what Ed said, the possibilities, scared him. It was one thing when folks he didn't know were dying. But Pip? What about Dog? Ronin? Matt? Himself?

Greg saw the crack Ed's words had caused. It was his turn. "Listen to me Yosh: your friend Pippy's life depends on the choice you make in the next 30 seconds. She's taken Officer Greely somewhere private to kill him. If it comes to his life or hers, we're gonna shoot your friend."

Ed nodded. "Happens fast. Single shot to Pippy's brain stem."

"Officer Lane here is a sniper. He can do it from 2 kilometers away."

"I never miss." Ed assured.

Yosh glanced from one to the other and back again. He believed them. They would kill Pippy. And it would kill him to see her go that way. Dropping his eyes, he shook his head, pleading "She's not a bad person. Please don't kill her."

"We don't want to kill her, son." Greg spoke softly, reaching out to squeeze the young man's shoulder. "We don't want to hurt her. But we cannot allow her to hurt anyone else. You need to tell us where she's going. Where she's holding Officer Scarletti. You need to help us help her."

Again Yosh looked up at the man, but, this time, all defiance was gone. "I… honest, I don't know where she's taking him. We all agreed… less each of us knew, the better chances we'd have…"

"How about Scarlatti? The officer you're holding hostage?" Ed wanted to know.

Yosh shook his head. "It's a water tower, but… Only Matt and Pip knew where. And Dog. The rest of us stayed in the back, kept our eyes covered. Less we knew…." He shrugged, apologetically.

"It's alright." Greg offered another squeeze. "Who's Matt and Dog? Tell me about them."

"Local kids. Um… street kids. Dog's like Pippy. He knew Luc. Always talks about him like he was… I don't know… like his knight in shiny armor or something." Yosh shook his head again.

"And Matt?" Greg encouraged.

Yosh hesitated.

"What about Matt?" Ed pushed.

"Matt… is different. He's one of those tough street kids." Yosh glanced up at Ed, but quickly turned his attention back to Greg. "Pippy's angry and hurt. But Matt… he's just mean." Again he hesitated, a thought coming to mind, a little hope for Pippy. "You know, Pippy has Greely. But Matt… he's got the other one."

"Spike…" Ed breathed.

Yosh nodded. "There's no telling what he's gonna do. I don't even know if he'll actually let him go after Pip's done. He hates cops, hates them like nothing else. And he likes to hurt…"

"And you don't know where he is." Greg reminded. He straightened up and took a few steps away. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

Spike!

What was happening to him right now?

What was he going through?

What was he feeling?

Did he think he was alone?

Did he think they had forgotten him?

Did he think they had failed him?

That they had given up on him?

"Hey, Greg… not now, buddy." Ed whispered in his ear.

He glanced up at his friend, always at his side, always backing him up, always his strength when he needed strength so bad.

Where would he be if Ed hadn't been there?

Licking his lips, Greg nodded. "We gotta get our boy back."

Ed also nodded. "We're gonna get our boy back." He answered.

Again Greg nodded. "Okay… okay." He ran a hand over his head and turned back to their prisoner. "Describe this water tank. What did it look like? Smell like? Noises? How long did it take you to get from there to here? Everything you can think of."

0o0o0o0o0

Something warm pressed against his head.

Spike jerked away, hitting the end of the cuffs with a clank and tarring of skin and scabs.

"Sorry!" Dog cried, just as startled as he stumbled away. "Sorry… I just… I was trying to help… sorry…" he stuttered.

Spike blinked, trying to clear his vision.

Damn, why was everything all covered with white splotches?

"Dog…" he croaked, but a fit of coughing stopped any further attempt to communicate. His body shook and heaved with every attempt to take a breath, leaving his ribs aching, his lungs burning, his throat on fire.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry…" Dog continued to whisper as he paced beside him. Every few steps he reached for the officer, as if he wanted to help him, but, not knowing what to do, he continued to pace.

Seemed forever before the coughing subsided enough for Spike to take a breath. A small breath, just enough to clear a little of the fog that had been closing in around his world. The dizziness subsided just a little, the tumbling in his gut easing just a bit. Taking little gasps of air, Spike dropped his head forward again against the icy cold steel of the pipe. He could taste copper. Spitting, he managed to clear most of the blood from his mouth.

"Ooooh, you're bleeding!" Dog wined, hugging himself. "Why are you bleeding? He didn't hit you… just shocked you… a lot…"

"Dog… hey, kiddo…" Spike breathed. "It's… it's okay, bro. Just… think I… I bit my tong." He spit again. "You got a … another soda… something to rinse… my mouth out?"

The boy paused, frowning with thought. Then he spun about and splashed across the little room to his bag.

Spike watched him, wondering what in god's name was a kid like him doing in a hell like this. When the boy returned he held the can, helping Spike take a sip. Swooshing it in his mouth, Spike turned his head and spit into the flowing water around his ankles.

Spike looked down at the water around his ankles.

It was so cold he could no longer feel anything below his knees. The water was dark, smelled odd, and rushed around like it was be pushed in.

"Dog… where's the water coming from?" he wondered.

The boy looked down. "It's four-thirty. Tank starts filling up at four-thirty."

Fill up…

Fill up…..

Fill… up….?!

"Bro, how full is filled up?" Spike asked, looking up.

Dog also looked up. "See that red line there? When it hits there, it will start raining in the rainforest garden until all the water is gone. Does it every night."

Spike saw the red line… eight feet above his head. "How long?"

Dog stepped back and looked at him. "Something like an hour. But, don't worry. Pip is heading back now. She has Greely. When she's done, she'll let you go."

"Dog…" Spike closed his eyes, dropping his against the pipe again. Head clearer, he could feel the vibration in the pipe as water rushed through it. "Kiddo, you gotta listen to me. You really think Matt's gonna let me out of here?"

Pain cut through his back just saying that animal's name. He knew there must be welts, burn marks. Every muscle felt pulled and worn thin, worked to death… shocked to death!

A moment of panic suddenly gripped his heart. Eyes glanced around sharply.

Seeing, Dog assured "He's not here. He went out to help Pip." He sniffed. "Think when you passed out he wasn't having any fun anymore."

Spike's teeth clattered, his jaw ached from the effort of trying to not shiver. He knew… he knew how long rescues took. Even if they found Pip and Greely, it would take time to talk her down; then more time talk her into talking to them; then even more time to convince her to tell them where he was…

He didn't have time.

Hell, he didn't have anything left.

"Dog…" He frowned at the kid. "What's your real name?"

The kid actually blushed. "Dougy." He answered in a near whisper.

Spike smiled. "Doug. Good name. Douglas…. Means black water."

Dog tilted his head. "Didn't know that." He mumbled, but he smiled at Spike.

"Doug, want you to do me a favor. Can you do me a favor?" he asked.

The boy tilted his head, but didn't answer.

Spike took the deepest breath he could without his lungs exploding. "Doug, bro… get out of here. Leave. Find the SRU. They'll help you. My boss, Greg Parker, he's a good guy. Got a kid your age. He'll help you. Make sure you get back to school, you get a chance at growing up and all that stuff Luc told you you can do." He called on whatever strength he had left and told him with all his confidence "Doug, you can have a life! You can have a future! Just… just get out of here… before it's too late."

Dog looked at him for a long moment, before whispering "But who'll let you out?"

The officer shook his head. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." He lied.

Dog shook his head.

"Doug, go!" Spike yelled at him. "Go! Now!"

The boy sniffed. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. After taking a few breaths, he tossed the soda can aside and spun about for the ladder. "I'll get the key!" he called over his shoulder. "I'll come back for you!" he promised as he scrambled up the ladder.

Spike closed his eyes, not daring to watch as the boy disappeared, closing the hatch behind him.

He was alone.

He was going to die.

Whether he drowned or Matt came back to finish him off, he didn't know.

But Dog… Doug… he got out. Maybe, just maybe, the kid would have chance now. If he listened to Spike, maybe Doug could be saved.

0o0o0o0o0


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: so this chapter came fast and hot. What you guys think? ~~The Chronicler

0o0o0o0o0

Constable Kevin Wordsworth stood in the Buteau living room, resisting the urge to fidget.

He had seen houses before that had lost a child. Parents gone mad with grief and anger; homes destroyed; families shattered; the whispered crying; the blank stares; the quiet…

The quiet was the worse.

Wordy could hear his daughters bouncing around, laughing and squealing, even now. Even with them miles away, tucked away, safe and sound with his wife at home, probably torturing their mother with a giant sheet tent in the middle of the front room, booby trapped with half-dressed Barbie Dolls and Littlest Pet Shop Bobble heads.

Would his home be quiet?

Wordy shook his head almost violently, thrusting the thought out of his head.

Focus!

"Are you alright, Officer?" Regine asked as she returned to the room, carrying a tray of tea to the coffee table.

Wordy felt a pang of guilt. Here was this childless mother worrying about him! "Um, yes, ma'am. Fine, thank you." He quickly tried to put her at ease.

With a graceful bow of the head, Regine began to pour tea.

Taking a deep breath, Wordy took a moment to organize himself. Looking about the room, he saw a comfortable, lived in room.

Family pictures adorned every flat surface and hanging from the walls, normal for a happy family.

Trophies lined the fireplace mantle, normal for proud parents.

The curtains were drawn, normal for a house in mourning.

Wordy stepped up to one of the end tables, covered with pictures of Luc with varies friends. One picture showed him laughing, an arm thrown around the shoulders of a laughing girl. "Is this Pippy?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

The mother crossed the room to stand at his side. She looked down at the pictures filled with fond memories. She smiled sadly. "Yes. She was in the advance classes with Luc. Oh, Pippy was a wonderful friend to our Luc. Best friend. They were inseparable." She picked up the picture and held it to her as if she was holding those two children, protecting them, loving them. When she looked up at Wordy, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "She would come over after school every day, did their school work together…" her eyes drifted to the dining room table in the other room, memories filling the room with long gone sights and sounds. "I don't know what her home life was like, but I don't believe it was happy. It wasn't long before there was a spot set at the table for her most nights. It was wonderful watching her open up… grow… blossom into a beautiful young woman. When she laughed it was like magic… the whole room laughed with her." Her eyes drifted down, a soft sigh escaping. "I miss that sound."

Wordy watched her, feeling his heart ache for her. "She lost Luc…"

Regine nodded, her eyes closing for just a breath. Then she took a deep breath and returned the picture to its place on the table. "When she lost Luc she lost her whole world. I… we tried to be there for her, but Jean Paul…" She ran light fingers over the pictures…

Luc running with a football, a small boy on his heels;

Christmas dinner with Jean Paul and Luc playfully arguing over the turkey leg while Pippy sneaks it out from under them both;

Luc and Pippy standing shoulder to shoulder, together, showing off their science project adorned with a big, blue ribbon;

Luc, his arms thrown around a laughing Pippy, a young boy squeezed between them…

Wordy licked his lips. "What happened?" he prodded.

Regine sighed again. She looked up at him. "He was so angry. He was so focused, never spoke of anything else. I told him it wasn't good for her, that she had to live, to grow beyond this… but he just couldn't let go…" Again she let her gaze drift away, remembering her husband holding the girl, letting her cry on his shoulder, letting her hurt and pain feed his anger… allowing his hurt and pain to feed her anger…

Wordy nodded to himself. Something else he had seen before… loved ones feeding off of each other, working themselves up into a murderous frenzy…

He glanced around the room suddenly. "Where is Mr. Buteau now?"

"Where he always is this time of day." She looked up at him again. "At the Garden."

"The Garden?" Wordy frowned. "Where it happened?"

"The Garden?" was echoed in his headset, reminding Wordy he wasn't alone in this conversation.

Regine nodded slightly. "He goes every day at five. Everyday… since it happened…" she turned away, walking back to the couch and tea. "Everyday…" she whispered as she lowered herself down to sit on the couch and pick up a cup of tea.

The voices from the headset were discussing this new information:

Sam: "Boss, there was another sighting…"

Jules: "We're coming pretty close to the Gardens…"

Ed: "She's taking him to the father…"

Greg: "Wordy, I need you to ask her something…"

Wordy licked his lips, his throat feeling suddenly dry. He didn't want to ask her. He didn't want to hear the answer. Still…

He turned and came to stand before her. Crouching down so she wouldn't have to look up at him, he spoke softly, but clearly: "Mrs. Buteau, I need to ask you… Do you think it's possible that Pippy… or your husband… are they capable, if given the opportunity, of killing Officer Greely?"

She looked at him, unflinching, breathing even and steady, eyes clear, voice unwavering as she answered "Please, do not ask me to answer that."

And then the house was quiet.

0o0o0o0o0

Greg looked at Ed.

Ed looked back.

They reacted as one, grabbing their gear as they headed for the door. "You heard them, team." Greg was saying in his head set as they climbed into their truck. "We'll meet you at the Gardens."

"Go quiet." Sam and Ed's voices overlapped.

Greg glanced back at his friend, but Ed was already mumbling "Sorry."

"'s okay." Sam assured. Then started again. "Go quiet. If Spike isn't there, the only thing saving him is not giving anyone a chance to react."

"No lights, no sirens." Greg agreed.

"Spike…" Ed started.

Greg nodded. "Wordy, need you to keep talking to Mrs. Buteau, buddy. They'd want to keep their hostage close enough in case things go bad." He neglected to say that going bad meant they would want him close to kill him quick. "She might know favorite hangouts nearby."

It was quiet for a moment as Greg directed the truck through the crowd, making their way out onto the road.

"I screwed up, boss." Ed grumbled.

"How?" Greg asked, seemingly paying more attention to driving than his friend. His hand dropped to the box on his belt, turning the mouth piece off on his headset, keeping their conversation private.

Ed shook his head in frustration. "I left him alone. I knew he was in a fragile state, and I stepped out of the room and left him alone."

"Eddy, you're human…"

"No, no." He kept shaking his head. "Spike in trouble…"

"Not your fault, buddy." Greg reassured, but was ignored.

"I should have been in top form. Should have been twice as alert. Not just about Greely… if Spike's hurt… worse…" Ed continued to ramble.

"Hey!" Greg raised his voice, demanding his attention. When Ed's eyes snapped about to look at him, Greg used that tone that not even Ed Lane bulked against. "Spike is going to be fine! We are getting him back!"

Ed stared at him, almost surprised that he needed the support that, so recently, he had been dishing out. Sighing, his voice lowered and he told his friend "I gotta make good on this call, Greg."

Greg frowned, not liking the tone of the conversation at all. "Why's that?" he wanted to know, though he was sure he had an idea.

Ed looked away. "'cause it's my last."

0o0o0o0o0

Wordy glanced at the pictures again. "Mrs. Buteau, do you know a boy called Dog?"

The woman smiled with fond memories. She rose to her feet, crossed the room, and took a picture from the collection.

Luc and Pippy with a young boy squeezed between them.

"Douglas." Regine told him, returning to the couch and handing him the picture. "When Luc first brought him home, he was nothing but skin, bones, bruises, and dirt. He wouldn't even speak to anyone but Luc and Pippy for weeks." She smiled at the picture. "Hot food, warm clothing, a few baths, good friends… He was a wonder, that one. He was a couple of years younger than Luc, but he didn't stop him from looking over their shoulders, soaking up every bit of knowledge he could from them. Luc would always tell him that he had everything he ever needed to be anything he ever wanted. All he needed was a chance." She looked at the curtained window, remembering back to a soccer game on the front lawn. "They were all good kids, all trying to be better than opportunity allowed."

Wordy looked down at the boy, smiling under dark eye lashes, a hood pulled over his head with big, fluffy dog ears dangling from either side. Big dark eyes looked up at his hero, Luc, with near worship, holding on to the two older kids like they were his life line.

And now Luc was gone.

And Pippy was slipping away.

"Do you know where he lived?" Wordy asked.

Regine frowned. "I wondered that often." She admitted. "I asked him once." She sipped at her tea.

"What did he say?" Wordy pushed.

She looked at him. "Nothing. And I didn't ask again." She answered. "Hot food, warm clothing, a few baths, good friends… just like Pippy, he was growing strong, blossoming…" She hesitated. "He loved engineering. There was this building he used to draw over and over again. He was fascinated with the way the water system worked."

"A water tank?" Wordy asked.

"I… I don't know." Regine spoke slowly. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the officer sitting across from her. "Is Douglas involved with your missing officer?"

"Careful." warned Greg's voice in Wordy's headset. "Be honest, but let her know that we want to help him. We are not hunting the boy. We want to help him."

Wordy dropped his eyes, but only for a fraction, before meeting her gaze. "Yes, ma'am, we believe so. We're worried about him, Mrs. Buteau, both Pippy and Douglas. We want to bring them home safe and sound. Everyone."

She watched him for a moment before setting her tea down. "Constable Wordsworth, ask me your question about Douglas."

Wordy hesitated, not sure at first what she was asking. What question… He stopped thinking. "Um… Do you think it is possible that… Douglas could hurt one of our officers?"

Regine held her chin high, her eyes steady, her voice strong. "No. There is no chance what so ever that Douglas would hurt anyone."

0o0o0o0o0

The lantern bobbed as it floated on the rising water, its light dancing on the walls in a kaleidoscope of flickering shapes and shadows.

For a time, Spike would watch them, just to keep his mind from falling back into the dark.

He didn't want to fall back into the dark. It was cold and lonely and… cold and lonely…

But, after a few breaths, his stomach would roll, twist, bounce, and he had to close his eyes. When his eyes were closed the only thing that reminded him that he was alive was the cold. The cold sank into everything, every joint, every muscle, every bone, every tooth as it clattered against its buddies, giving voice to the damnable cold…

Then he would force his eyes open, forcing his mind to move, to be active, to stay alive, to watch the dancing light on the walls…

…until his stomach began to roll, twist, bounce…

"Spike?"

No, no, no, no….

He forced his eyes open to see Dog wading through the waist high water toward him, a pry bar in one hand. "I… I… I told you… to go…" he managed through clattering teeth.

"Huh. You really don't know anything 'bout teenagers, do you?!" Dog chuckled at him. He stepped behind the pipe Spike was cuffed to. "I think I can get you lose."

"Wh… what… key…" Spike dropped his head against the pipe. He knew this was a bad idea. He knew! But his stuttering, aching head just couldn't quite grasp why.

Dog shook his head. "Matt's got the key." was all he needed as an explanation. He stretched up, jiggling the end of the bar in between the metal rings of the cuffs.

"Ca… careful…"

"Stop talking. You sound funny." Dog growled at him as he gritted his teeth and pulled down as hard as he could on the bar. "Come on, come on, come on…." He grunted and cursed.

The cuffs pulled on Spike's wrists as any give was being pulled just as far…

The end of the bar slipped from the steel ring, slamming across the back of Spike's hand and dropping Dog into the water with a splash.

Spike bit back a cry, squeezing his eyes so tight he saw white flashes.

Dog's head broke through the water with a spew of sputtering and curses. He swatted at the water as if it was responsible for all the ills of the world. "Damn it, damn it, damn it…."

"D… Doug… bro, you okay?" Spike managed, opening his eyes to find the boy.

Dripping wet from head to toe, Dog looked up at him. "Stop talking!" he snapped.

Spike smiled. "S… sssound…. Funny?"

Dog glared at him for a moment, before he shook his head angrily, his wet dog ears spraying water in all directions. He looked up at Spike. "Ah, damn, you're bleeding." He stepped up to the pipe again and yanked the bandanna off his face. Wrapping it around Spike's hand, he mumbled "Stupid, stupid, stupid." Tying the cloth in place, he stepped back. "How's that?"

Spike gazed at the boy through bleary vision. "Huh."

Dog frowned at him. "What?"

Spike shrugged. "F… First t… time I see… see you…" He tried to smile. "C… cute kid."

"Shut up." Dog huffed, hitting the water, splashing the officer.

"Hey! Puppy!"

Spike stiffened, every muscle that he could still feel igniting.

"Matt." Dog hissed. He stepped around the prisoner to glare at the man who jumped down from the ladder with a splash. "Where's the key, Matt? Pippy said when she got Greely, this one could go."

"Nooooo, Puppy." Matt answered as he eased through the water toward them, the cattle prod bouncing on his shoulder. "She said when she was done with Greely, she'd be done with this one."

"The water's rising fast. He'll drown. We can let him go now!" Dog insisted.

His hand snapped out, grabbing the boy by the chin. "We can't let him go now. You blew that, didn't you, puppy? Showed off your ugly mug. He's not gonna forget that." He pushed the boy aside. "Probably be kinder if we just put him out of his misery now." He raised the cattle prod, pressing it hard against the base of Spike's skull. "Just one little zap. What you think, pig? Ready to say nighty-night?"

Spike closed his eyes.

Mom and Pop….

Sarg and the guys…

Winnie…

"No!" Dog screamed, suddenly coming up swinging his pry bar at Matt.

The bigger kidnapper jumped aside just in time to avoid the bar. With a growl, he spun about, grabbed the bar with one hand, and back handing the boy with the other.

Dog fell back into the water again, but Matt was quick to follow, jumping on his back and pushing him under the water.

"Little, pathetic Puppy!" he snarled.

"Get off of him!" Spike yelled. Using all the energy he didn't know he had, he jerked against the cuffs, yelling as loud as his horse throat would allow. "Leave him alone! Get off!"

Spinning away from his smaller victim, Matt brought the metal bar around, across Spike's shoulders.

Spike cried out, surprised that it was possible to actually hurt more than he already was.

"You shut the hell up, you stupid pig!" Matt yelled at him. "Just for that… you can drown! Or shiver your damn ass to death!" He grabbed Dog by the back of the neck and threw him at the ladder. "Get your butt up there!"

"I'm not leaving him!" Dog protested.

"You go up now, or I'll lock you down here and you can drown with him!"

"Go!" Spike gasped. "Buddy, go! Please! Go!" he pleaded. He didn't know if the tears streaming down his cheeks were from the pain or the rush of fear of that boy dying beside him.

That couldn't happen!

It just couldn't happen!

Please, god, don't let it happen…

"please, Dougy, go, please…" he cried softly, his body finally giving up, leaving him hanging by the wrists from the cuffs.

Dog looked over his shoulder at the man, Matt shoving him in front of him.

"Climb!" Matt snarled.

Closing his eyes, forcing himself not to look, Douglas began to climb. He wondered if the tears streaming down his cheeks were from the water splashed on his face or the rush of fear that he was leaving Spike, his friend, behind to die.

0o0o0o0o0


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Okay, so I know I don't have the dialog right. But, I think it works. So, no one hate me please. ~~The Chronicler

0o0o0o0o0

Jean Paul Buteau knelt in the dirt, staring down at his life: a picture surrounded by flowers and stuff toys. His whole life, past, present, future, all came down to a little pile of nothing. He had known it all, everything that his life was going to be, everything he had worked and sacrificed his entire life for…

Luc's graduation…

Helping him move into his first dorm room…

Christmas Break…

Waiting to meet his girl for the first time…

Luc standing proud, waiting for his bride to walk down the aisle…

That phone call in the middle of the night: "Dad, her water broke…"

An old man, sitting on the porch with his wife, lovely with her gray hair and bright eyes, watching their grandchildren play in the yard, their son flipping burgers on the grill, his wife rocking the newest member of their family…

His future…

And it was gone.

Everything.

There was nothing left.

No yesterday.

No today.

No tomorrow.

Just a picture of a good boy who could have been a good man, surrounded by flowers and little stuffed toys.

The hallow in his chest was so big, so empty, so cold… nothing could fill it… nothing could make it better… nothing could make it go away…

Jean Paul doubled over in his agony. "Ooooh, my boy, my Luc…" he cried. "I failed you, son. Failed you on every front."

Scuffing feet.

Jean Paul's head snapped up.

Bill Greely, officer, peace keeper, murder of little boys, stood there, staring at him, hands up as if…

… as if apologizing for interrupting…

Interrupting!

Apologizing!

Jean Paul leaped to his feet. "You! Get out! Get out! You have no right! You have no right to be here!" He threw an accusing finger at the man. "You! You should be dead! Not my boy! Not Luc!"

Greely shook his head, mouth open like he couldn't think of what to say.

But then Pippy was there, shoving Greely to the ground, a gun in her hand. "I knew you felt the same!" she cried. "I knew you wanted justice!"

Jean Paul stopped, confused. "Pippy?" Why was she here? Why was she here with him? Why was she here with him, a gun in her hand?

A gun!

Oh god…

"Pippy, what are you doing? Why do you have a gun?" Jean Paul wanted to know, suddenly frightened for the girl.

But Pippy was too enraged to answer. She waved the weapon at her prisoner. "Luc's gone and he's here! Here! He just think life gets to go like nothing ever happened. Why does he get to live? Well, he doesn't." she screamed.

"You don't want to do…" Greely started.

"SHUT UP!" the girl screamed, slamming the gun across the back of his head. "On your knees! Get on your knees!"

Pushing himself up onto his knees, one hand clutching his bleeding arm, Greely forced his eyes up, his jaw set… unapologetic, unashamed…

Jean Paul shook his head, not understanding. Stepping closer, he called to the girl that was like a daughter to him. "Pippy…"

"I brought him here for you." She quickly explained. She hurried to his side, taking his arm, and leading him back to her captive. "So you can have justice. We can. Luc…" Just saying his name renewed the rage, and she jerked away from the father, thrusting the gun at Greely. "He killed Luc! He took Luc away from us! He deserves to die! Not Luc! It should have been him! Not Luc!"

Greely flinched, turning his face away from the gun. "I did what I had…"

"Shut up!" Pippy screamed. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

"Pippy!" Jean Paul grabbed her arms, turning her to face him.

Pippy looked up at him, her eyes big. "I brought him for you." She said again, her voice soft. She held the gun up for him. "He killed Luc. He did this. Did this to him… to Luc… to us…"

Jean Paul felt that big, cold, emptiness inside his chest. He felt that forever that came with knowing that that emptiness would never be full again, never warm, never anything other than just empty.

No graduation.

No dorm room.

No Christmas breaks.

No true loves.

No weddings.

No babies.

No rocking chairs on porches, watching the future play in the yard.

No future.

No nothing.

His fingers wrapped around the butt of the gun and he slowly turned to find the reason for all of this.

Officer Bill Greely looked up at him.

"You." He hissed. "You took my son!"

Greely held his chin up. "I'm done." He growled.

"Done?" Jean Paul tilted his head in disbelief. "You are done?"

"I am done!" Greely snapped. "Done with hiding! Done with sitting in silence! Done with watching the world burn! I'm here! Get it the hell over with!"

"SRU! Put your gun down and back away…"

Pippy let out a little cry, sounding more mad than frightened.

Jean Paul reacted more out of instinct than any real thought. He spun around Greely, grabbing him by the collar, jerking him nearly off his knees as he held the man between him and the threat, and putting the gun to his head. He glanced behind him, making sure Pippy was behind him, safe…

Safe?

He had a gun in his hand!

He had a gun in his hand aimed at the head of another human being!

He had a gun in his hand aimed at the head of another human being with some unknown number of heavily armed SRU officers closing in around them!

What the hell was safe about any of this?!

"Go away!" Pippy screamed. "Leave us alone!"

"Stay back!" Jean Paul yelled at the bushes, glancing about sharply, trying to find those hidden officers. "This doesn't have anything to do with you! Leave us alone! Or… Or I'll kill him!"

"Go ahead!" Greely challenged. "Get it over with!"

0o0o0o0o0

The lantern had tipped in the swooshing water long ago, extinguishing its light, leaving the room in icy cold blackness.

Now Spike floated, more than stood, laying his head as far back as he could, trying to keep his mouth and nose clear of the four smelling water. All he could hear was the slow, deep thud in his chest, his ears filled with water. He was beyond shivering, he was beyond feeling. All he had left was that little bit of air that he could manage to pull into his lungs.

He closed his eyes, thinking how painful drowning would be.

The painful part was the instinctive panic. Lungs filling slowly with ice as he fought to keep it out.

He knew, if he took a quick, deep breaths as the water covered his head, it would end quicker, be over sooner. Just close his eyes and let go.

Hope.

What if his team was right outside that hatch?

Just right there, ready to bust in to save his life?

What if he gave up and they were right there?

What if… what if he gave up like Lew…. Took that deep lungful of icy water, step off that mine, let go, die…

Leave!

Leave his team wondering…

What if they had been right there?

Just breaths away from saving the day?

Spike took a deep, lung full of air just before the icy water covered his face.

His last thought before his lungs ignited with the agony of holding what little air he had, before the instinctive panic and fight kicked in, before all thoughts scattered in the wake of just trying to stay alive a few more minutes…

Hope sucked!

0o0o0o0o0

Ed shook his head. "He's not in the same place he was this morning, boss." He hissed to his friend. "Let me take this."

Greg looked at him. "Can you do this?" he asked.

Ed nodded once. "Let me do this." He repeated. He needed to make this right. He needed to end this right.

Greg nodded, stepping back and letting Ed take the lead. He trusted Ed with his life. He trusted Ed with everything. If he said he could do this, then no one could do it better.

"Sam?" Ed inquired.

"I have the solution." Sam assured from up high.

"Hold." Ed ordered, before holstering his weapon and stepping out into the open, hands held up and wide.

"Stay back!" Jean Paul yelled when he saw the officer.

"Damn it, Ed, get out of here." Bill groaned. "Just… just find Scarlatti and go… just go!"

"Just go!" Pippy screamed as she paced frantically behind Jean Paul.

"Listen to me, Bill." Ed started, nice and slow.

"Tell him where Scarlatti is!" Bill twisted back to yell at Pippy. "You got me. You don't need him anymore. You tell them where he is and they'll go. They'll have to go to get their guy!"

"Will you shut up!" Pippy hissed at him. "No one wants to hear you!"

"No." Ed quickly countered. "Bill, you wanted to be heard. You wanted to tell your side… Tell it now. Tell Jean Pau what happened that night…"

"I've heard his lies!" Jean Paul snapped.

"No, no… you've heard from his lawyers, but you haven't heard from him." Ed told him. "You haven't heard from him. From the man that was there… there, in that moment, in that instant…" He looked at Bill. "How when he came in here, peering through the dark, it was in answer to a call. Bill? You remember that call?"

Bill licked his lips. "Yea…" he breathed. His eyes dropped, remembering a moment he really didn't want to. "Yea. Shots fired next door. People were dead. Reports of three black youths… yea, someone called them black… they said they came in here…"

Jean Paul paused. He looked down at the man in his grip, under the point of his gun. He remembered the reasons. He remembered this all being said before. Remembered as if some machine reported the events of that night as if it was nothing more than words on a page, about no one real, attached to no one, no feeling, no emotion…

But to hear this man, living, breathing, feeling, voice trembling… and he knew, he understood, that that tremble wasn't from the gun pointed at his head. It was… something else.

"You were afraid." Ed put it into words.

Bill threw a glare at him, angry that his emotions were that exposed, that visible… that Ed could see them as clearly as if he was there that night. "I… I'd never had to use my gun before. I was alone. I didn't know what I was facing…"

"So you just shot!" Pippy sneered. She tried to push around Jean Paul, but he pushed her back behind him. "Black kid? Must be the doer, right? Must be guilty of something, right? Shoot first, figure out what to blame him for later… that right?!"

"No!" Bill snapped back. "I did not shoot because he was black!"

"Ed, Jean Paul's listening." Greg's voice spoke in Ed's headset. "Keep Bill focused on you, telling you what happened."

"Bill… Bill!" Ed called to the hostage. "What happened? It was dark. You were scared."

Bill's eyes snapped back to him.

So did Jean Paul's.

"What happened?" Ed encouraged.

Bill closed his eyes. "I… saw someone… him… I saw him and a ordered him… I told him to stop, but…" He shook his head, hating the scenes playing out behind his eye lids, scenes he saw every time he closed his eyes, kept him up late at night, left his heart aching, his hands shaking, his mind numb with shock… "I chased him. When he turned, he was reaching in his jacket… I thought… I thought…" He looked up at Ed, tears escaping his eyes. "I was so scared that… that when I heard the shot… I thought that he had shot me. I thought… I thought this was it… I was dead. My wife, my kids… I… I…." He dropped his head, pulling his badge from his front pocket. "He… he thought he was in trouble… for this." He held up a dried orchid. "For a flower…" He looked back at Jean Paul, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I am sorry. If I could take that night back… if I could take his place…"

Jean Paul stared at the flower. He let the gun to drift from his target. "Pippy… look… an orchid…" Forgetting the weapon in his hand, he reached for the flower. "He was getting you an orchid for your project…" He turned away from Bill, holding the flower out to Pippy.

"Move in." Greg's whispered voice ordered through the head sets.

Ed was already moving forward, pulling Bill away and behind him, as Greg and Jules quickly came forward.

But, before Jules could get her hands on Pippy, the girl screamed wildly. She ripped at the gun in Jean Paul's hand.

"Pippy, no!" Jean Paul yelled, stumbling away from her.

Jules wrapped her arms around the girl, pulling her back, away from the gun. "Pippy! No!"

The teenage girl screamed in rage, an animalistic sound that tore at everyone's ears. She kicked and clawed at the officer, struggling to get free.

Sam came from the front, grabbing the girl's hands. "Pippy… Pippy, you need to settle down…" Sam tried to reason, but only received more angry screams and curses.

Greg took the gun, without protest, from Jean Paul's hand. "Jean Paul, she needs you." He told him softly.

The father was already stepping towards the girl, the daughter he had never had, that, he realized, he had all but ignored over the last year. Guilt was suddenly overwhelming as he saw what his own pain fueled rage had done to the girl.

"Pippy. Pippy, please." Jean Paul pleaded, holding his arms out to her.

Instantly she froze, staring at him with wide eyes. Then she whispered, her lips trembling, "But… but Luc's gone… he's gone! He took him away from me! I'm all alone… all alone…"

A nod from Greg sent both Jules and Sam stepping back… just enough to allow the man and girl a moment, but close enough in case that moment went bad.

Jean Paul shook his head. "No, Pippy. Oh, Pippy, I'm here. I'm here." He coed, gathering her into his arms.

"I… I miss him so much." The girl sobbed in his arms. "I want him back."

"I know, I know." Jean Paul soothed, rocking her. "Luc wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want us to do this, to feel like this… not for him. He wouldn't want us to hurt others." He buried his face in her hair and cried openly. "He wouldn't want this…"

Ed helped Bill to his feet, pulling him further from danger. But Bill wasn't done. Grabbing Ed's arm, he asked "Scarlatti?"

Ed looked at Greg.

Greg stepped close to the couple. "Pippy…" he spoke gently, softly, the voice of a father who felt for their loss… but feared another loss. "We need to know where the officer you took is."

The girl suddenly stiffened in Jean Paul's arms. Her eyes snapped open, pupils dilated, jaw set. She pushed away from Jean Paul, stepping back, away from them all. Her eyes were wide with violent rage again. "No!" she snarled at them.

"Pippy, please… don't do this…" Jean Paul pleaded.

"NO!" she screamed. Fists doubled up, she roared "Someone has to pay! Someone!" She spun about, looking up at the ceiling. "Matt! Matt, make him pay! Eye for an eye! Matt! You do it!" she screamed into the air.

Jules grabbed her again, pulling her to the ground, restraining her.

"Who are you talking to?" Jean Paul wondered, confused.

Sam spun about, his rifle coming to his shoulder as he scanned the ceiling. "There! Two kids!" he shouted, spotting the two bodies slipping from a catwalk out a ceiling hatch.

"Sam?" Ed called.

The young team leader cursed as he lost sight of the two. He glanced at Jules, struggling to restrain the girl as she tore and fought with renewed rage. He had to help Jules. He had to take care of this situation first, he had to… "Ed, I have this! Go!" he ordered.

With a nod, Ed spun about and was heading for the door.

"Boss, I got this!" Sam told Greg. "Go! Go!"

Greg was quick behind Ed, calling into his headset "Wordy, where are you?"

0o0o0o0o0

Wordy was maneuvering his truck through the back entrance to the Gardens. "Boss, I'm here. Where do you…" He stopped, slamming on the breaks.

A building at the back of the dome over the gardens stood right before him. Two stories high, small in diameter, flat roof, a small service elevator ran up one side, large pipes running along the cat walk that connected it to the Gardens.

Snatching the drawing off the seat beside him, Wordy held it up for comparison. It was a drawing Regine had given him, a drawing Douglas had given her.

"Wordy?" Greg called to him over his headset.

"I think I found where they have Spike!" Wordy exclaimed excitedly, leaping out of his truck.

"Thank god… where?"

Wordy started to shout directions as he ran for the building, but was stopped again as he saw two figures running across the catwalk.

0o0o0o0o0

"Matt! Matt, stop!" Dog yelled as he chased after him. "Stop!"

But the man ignored him, his longer legs carrying him faster and further than the boy. He could see the truck with flashing lights below, the cop looking up at them. He was almost giddy with anticipation.

The world was gonna burn!

And he was gonna light the match!

They thought the riot was a page turner?

One dead black punk stealing flowers for his girlfriend?

Wait until there's a dead cop!

Now there's gonna be fun!

Anarchy!

"Matt!" Dog threw a rock, hitting Matt in the back of the knee.

Matt fell forward onto the roof of the water tank, only a few feet from the hatch. It was beyond belief that the little mutt would actually attack him!

Dog jumped over him, landing on the hatch. He spun about to glare at Matt. "Gimme the key!"

Matt slowly pushed himself to his knees, pulling the cattle prod from his belt. "I… am… gonna… kill… you… you little, piece of dog shit!" the last he roared as he leaped forward, tackling Dog.

Dog cried out as he was slammed back against the roof, the cattle prod jabbing into his ribs, sending a sharp shock through his body.

With a snarl, Matt slammed his back against the hard wood again, before climbing to his feet, leaving the boy to curl up on himself. "You stupid, little puppy!" He swung the cattle prod at him at his head, but Dog jerked up an arm to defend himself.

Again he cried out as the hard rod slammed into his arm. He rolled away, tucking the limb under him, trying to find some protection.

"Stop! SRU!" came a yell.

Matt looked over his shoulder to the officer leaping out of the elevator.

Dog kicked with all his might, catching Matt in the back of the legs.

Again, Matt fell forward, but, this time, there was nothing in front of him to catch him. With a wordless, scream, the man fell off the roof, falling two stories down to the ground below.

Breathing hard, Dog stared at the area where matt had been.

He had wanted him gone. He had aimed to toss him off the roof, away, anywhere away from Spike!

But, now, it had occurred to him… Matt had the key!

"Spike." Dog breathed. Rolling over, he scrambled back to the hatch and yanked it open. "Spike!" he yelled, but all he saw was dark, black water…

"Stop!" Wordy yelled again, running up behind the boy, his weapon aimed at him.

Dog looked up at him.

Wordy stopped, just a few feet away. "You're Doug…. Right? I'm Wordsworth… Wordy…" he started.

Dog glanced down at the water, then back up at the officer.

An officer.

A cop.

A pig holding a gun on him just like one held a gun on Luc, just like the one who shot Luc, killed him, took him away from him.

Just like Spike.

"You have hand cuff keys?" he asked.

Wordy hesitated. He wasn't sure what side of this thing the boy was on.

Then Dog glanced at the water again, and back up. "You know Lew? What happened to him?" he asked.

Again Wordy hesitated. His friend, his team mate, flashed through his mind, memories, laughter, tears, sitting with Spike in the days after. They took turns staying with him, keeping an eye on him, making sure he didn't… "Yea… yea, I knew Lew. He was my friend. My teammate. Spike's best friend. We… we lost him…" He couldn't bring himself to go into details. Still hurt.

Then his eyes went wide.

Still hurt him. What about Spike? Spike hadn't talked to any of them about it. Why would he tell this kid about him?

Dog held out a hand.

Wordy gave him his handcuffed keys.

Before the officer could react, Dog snatched the keys and jumped into the water.

0o0o0o0o0


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Okay, here it is. Take a deep breath, and let me know if I got it right. ~~The Chronicler

0o0o0o0o0

Hope sucks.

It makes you fight when you're too tired to fight.

Push when it hurts too much to push.

Hang on when all you want to do is let go.

Makes you dream of tomorrow when you don't even have today.

Hope sucks.

Makes you see things…

…. Like a faint light pulsing through the endless void.

Makes you feel things…

…. Like the pulling, the floating, the rising toward that faint light.

Makes you hear things…

…. Like voices of those you know can't be there.

They can't be there, because you can't be there. Never there, never again.

That's what dead was, right?

Never there, never again.

Right?

God, hope really sucked.

"I got him! I got him!"

"Winnie, we need EMTs!"

"I have a pulse… but he's not breathing. Damn it, boss, he's not breathing! He's blue and cold and… and not breathing…"

"Wordy, get that boy out of the water. Warm him up."

"Ed, compressions!"

"On it… One, two, three…"

"Come on, Doug. Come on, kid. Let's get you warm."

"Spike… open your eyes, buddy... Come on, Michelangelo, don't do this to us…"

"… five, six, seven… Greg, he's ice… nine, ten…"

"I know, Eddy, I know…. Winnie, where's that ambulance?!"

"Is he alright?"

"Doug, stay back, kiddo. Let them work."

"No, no, no, no…"

"It's alright, Doug, we got him…

"No! He can't die! You can't let him! Do something!"

"Trying! … thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… Greg…"

"Don't give up!"

"Give up? What the hell? Don't you cops care about anyone?!"

"Douglas, calm down…"

"No! Let me go! Get off!"

Doug?

Dougy?

"Don't you let him die!"

"We're trying, Doug… kinda up to him, right now…"

Doug?

Dog?

"Spike? Spike, you stupid ass cop! I didn't give up everything just so you could up and kick the damn bucket!"

"… twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…"

"Douglas, please, buddy…"

"No!"

Doug?

Douglas?

Hope really, really sucks.

"DON'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU STUPID PIG!"

Spike's world exploded… blinding light, ear splitting noise, burning heat… everything, everything….

Everything!

"Doug…" he gasped, but choked on a mouth full of water.

"Roll him!" Greg ordered, already rolling spike onto his side so he could spit out the water. "Get it out, Spike. Good job, buddy. Damn good job, buddy!"

He would have continued to cough if there had been enough air in his lungs to cough. Instead, Spike found himself clutching at the black tar roof of the water tank, gulping in air so desperately it hurt. Everything hurt!

Everything that he could feel hurt!

"Easy, Mike." Greg coached, rubbing his back. "Slow it down, buddy. Slow, deep breaths… Take your time. You got all the time in the world…" Pulling off his coat and wrapping it around his man's shivering shoulders, Greg looked to Ed. "We have to warm him up… fast."

Ed was nodding as he slid out of his own coat in the cold, wet weather, wrapping it around Spike. "How's the kid, Wordy?"

"Cold… and cussing." Wordy answered.

"Get the hell off him! Whatcha doing to him?!" Doug was snapping and fighting at Wordy who was trying to keep him out of Ed and Greg's way.

Hearing his voice as if from so far away, Spike tried to push himself up. "Doug…" he choked.

Greg glanced up at the boy sharply.

Something happened between these two… they were being protective… overprotective…. Spike was barely conscious… barely alive!... and he was trying to protect the kid. Doug had jumped into freezing water without a second thought to rescue Spike, a man he had helped kidnap, tie up, and torture only a few hours earlier.

And now they were just, simply, trying to reach each other.

"Wordy…" When his man glanced at him, Greg nodded once. "Let him go."

Wordsworth frowned, but, nonetheless, stepped aside.

Doug paused, unsure what sort of trick the cops were pulling now. He glared at Wordy for a moment, just daring him to do something.

Wordy held out his coat with raised eyebrows and a tilt of his head.

The kid glared another moment before snatching the coat and pushing pass. Pulling it around his shoulders, Doug skidded to his knees beside his one-time prisoner. "Spike? Spike!" he grabbed his friend, rolling him away from Greg. "Hey, dumbass, I spend all day trying to get you to shut up… and you pick NOW to shut up?!" he yelled.

Dazed, red eyes blinked up at him. "Doug…?" he croaked through burning throat.

The boy actually smiled.

Suddenly Spike was sitting up, his arms wrapped around the boy in a fierce, unbreakable bear hug, his eyes squeezed shut, his face buried in his shoulder.

Greg jumped back, a little startled at the sudden move. Everyone was frozen, unsure of what they should be doing.

But then Greg saw Spike's shoulders shake and he knew it had nothing to do with how cold he was. Spike was crying.

Greg scooted forward again, rubbing Spike's back. "Ah, Mike, buddy, you're alright. You're alright, buddy. You're just fine."

Ed ran a hand down his face. "Michelangelo Scarlatti…" he breathed, reaching out to run his hand through his officer's wet hair, before dropping down to squeeze his shoulder. "We got you, buddy. We got you." He looked over him to Greg. "We got him." he whispered.

It was the only thing he could think to say.

It was the only vocabulary left to him.

It was the only words he had.

It was all he could say.

"We got him."

For a moment they sat there, nothing more on their minds than having Spike back and alive. But then Spike began to cough, doubling up, only thing keeping him from falling over was his grip on Doug.

"Eddy, we got to get him down stairs." Greg announced, wrapping his arms around his officer and started to lift him up off the ground, onto feet that just didn't seem to work anymore.

"Copy that, boss." Ed answered, but, before he could move to help, Doug was already under Spike's arm, throwing the officer a glare, warning him off. Ed held up his hands, surrendering to the boy. He was getting the idea that getting between the two wasn't going to be as easy as it should be… considering one was a boy, the other a half drowned, not quite conscious friend.

"Sam and Jules got Greely and the girl?" Wordy wondered as they headed for the elevator.

Greg glanced back. "Eddy…"

"Yea." Ed hurried pass, starting across the catwalk, back to the Gardens. "Wordy, get them downstairs and warmed up. Oxygen for Spike. We'll meet you outside."

The two story elevator ride seemed to take forever.

Greg busied himself with trying to detect all over Spike's injuries without moving him too much. Every time his eyes would start to close, Greg gave him a gentle shake. "Sorry, Mike. Know you're tired, but you have to stay awake. You hear me?"

Spike was trying to keep his feet under him, but his legs were like rubber. The Sargent was finding he was more carrying his man than just helping him along. He had tried to put an arm around Spike's waist, but a hiss from him warned Greg of more injuries. What, he wouldn't know until he could set him down and start peeling the wet clothing off. But, maybe worse of all, he could imagine.

A cattle prod held against his skin would have left burns.

No doubt he had been hit a few times, so maybe some bruise, cracked, maybe even broken, ribs.

Though the water had washed the blood away, he could see the gash just behind the hair line over one ear. Somebody had hit him in the head.

There were several little cuts around the right side of his face. Greg wondered if that was when the window was shattered. Was there glass in those cuts?

Dazed, dilated eyes; he wasn't focusing. Concussion.

He was wheezing, couldn't seem to take a deep breath, coughing with anything close to a mild breath. Water in the lungs. That was bad.

Skin blue, ice cold. Hypothermia.

Damn it, why was this damn elevator taking so damn long?!

The doors slid open with a high pitch squeal.

There, standing in front of them, covered in scrapes and cuts, bits of twigs sticking out of his clothing and hair, was Matt. With an animalistic snarl, he raised his cattle prod weapon, the end snapping with electricity, and lunged right at Doug.

Greg reached for his weapon.

Behind him, Wordy let out a shout, grabbing Doug by the collar and yanking him back.

But no one was faster than Spike.

Eyes snapping wide open with the sound of the buzzing cattle prod, he moved. Pushing Doug back into Wordy, he stepped forward, his legs suddenly in complete control. One hand slapped the offending end of the cattle prod away while the other doubled up into a fist and took Matt square on the jaw.

There was no sound as Matt's head snapped back, his arms flaying about, his weapon flying off to the sound. His fall seemed to last at least half as long as the elevator ride, falling back until he landed hard on the cement of the parking lot, where he laid, unmoving, out cold.

Again, the group was left, staring, wondering what they should do.

But then Doug let out a whistle. "'Bout damn time somebody busted that ass in the jaw!" he breathed and he returned to his place under Spike's arm.

Greg took Spike's other arm as his man's legs seemed to return to a rubber state. "Wordy!"

"I got him!" Wordy assured, moving pass them and to their attacker. He kicked the cattle prod out of reach before checking for any further weapons. "Damn. Spike, you are the new one shot wonder, man!" he whooped, grinning as he rolled Matt over on his stomach and began to handcuff him.

Greg glanced around for any further threats.

Two ambulances were coming into the parking lot, uniformed officers spreading out, looking for something to do. The doors of the gardens open across the parking lot from them and Sam and Jules escorted Pippy and Jean Paul into the hands of Uniforms. Jules waved and shouted to one of the ambulances, directing the EMTs inside. A car pulled in behind the police cars and Regine stepped out, calling to her husband.

And Greg took a deep breath. Then he turned his attention back to Spike.

The sudden action seemed to have cleared some of the fog from Spike's eyes, though his body was obviously going to need some time to recover. Maybe more so now, than a moment before.

"Feel better?" he wondered after the One Shot Wonder's display.

Spike blinked up at him. Blinked again. Then admitted through chattering teeth and barely contained coughs "Y…yea… a l.. l… little."

Greg smiled. "Good… 'course, you might regret that when you start feeling again."

Spike frowned. "Why?"

Sargent Greg Parker held up Spike's weapon of choice in the matter. "I think you broke your hand."

Spike's eyes narrowed. Then he smiled. He started to laugh, but ended up doubling over in a coughing fit.

Wordy rolled Matt out of the way as the EMTs rushed to Spike. With a glance, making sure his friend was alright, wordy continued the process. "Sir, Mr. Glass Jaw Matt Anarchist Punk, you are under arrest. You are unconscious…."

0o0o0o0o0

Constable Bill Greely stepped out into the evening sun and took a deep breath.

It had stopped raining. The air was crisp, fresh, new. The sky was alit with pinks and purples as the setting sun broke through the fading clouds.

The bad weather had passed.

The day was coming to an end.

And it all felt…

It felt different.

That morning he had woken with a hope, a belief, that this day would be the last of a bad dream. That by this time he would be away, starting anew, leaving all this crap behind. That he would feel alive, free, happy…

Bill Greely felt the sudden urge to find a dark corner and cry.

Hope sucked.

Constable Ed Lane stepped out beside him and took a deep breath.

It had stopped raining. The air was crisp, fresh, new. The sky was alit with pinks and purples as the setting sun broke through the fading clouds.

The bad weather had passed.

The day was coming to an end.

And it all felt…

It felt different.

That morning he had woken with a plan. It wasn't a plan he liked, but he was determined. He was set, He had a goal. He had a son, a baby girl, a beautiful wife that he loved more than life itself. And he would give anything for them. Even his own happiness.

But, now, as he looked out at Team One, his team, his friends, his family… how close he came to losing one of them; how good it felt to be in the middle of the heat, to be among them… he felt so alive!

He suddenly wanted something much, much more than he deserved. He wanted it all!

Hope sucked.

Ed looked at Bill. "How's the arm?" he wondered.

Bill looked down at the sling that held the weight of his arm off of his wounded shoulder. "I'll live… for better or worse." He looked up at Ed. "How do you do it, man? You been on the force… how long? How do you do it, every day? Get up knowing half the world is angry you didn't get there in time, the other angry that you did? Knowing that badge on your chest is just some beacon to all the hurt and hate out there? Taking the hit for people who would just as soon hit you themselves?" He shook his head. "How do you do it?"

Ed looked out over the parking lot again. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he turned to Bill and said with all honesty "Who do they got… if they don't have us?"

Bill's eye widen slightly, but what was happening in his head, he kept to himself as a uniformed officer approached, offering him a ride to the hospital.

Across the parking lot, Wordy, Sam, and Jules were standing behind the ambulance as Greg gave them his orders.

"I'm going to the hospital with Spike." Greg was telling them. "The rest of your get back to the barn and start debrief. I'll call as soon as I get word on his condition."

"You want me to call his parents?" Jules asked.

"No." Greg rolled his eyes, dreading that conversation. He was sure he wouldn't understand half of the Italian that would be shouted, cried, and cursed at him, but, he would understand enough to want to keep that conversation on the back burning a little longer. "But make sure we have all the equipment from Spike's truck accounted for. Last thing we need is one of our gun out there in some anarchist's hands."

"Sargent, time to go." Came a call from within.

Greg nodded. He looked over his three officers one more time, just to assure himself they were alright, before stepping back into the ambulance.

Sam and Wordy closed the doors and the three stood and watched as the ambulance screeched away.

"So…" Jules started.

"We got everything from the truck?" Sam asked, his eyes never leaving the ambulance.

"Yup, all accounted for." Jules assured, her gaze never wavering either. "The kids were more interested in destroying than steeling."

"Pippy all settled with the Unies?" Sam asked.

"Yup. And Matt's locked up and tossed in the back of a car. One shot wonder, huh?"

"Yup." Wordy answered.

Sam chuckled. "Would have loved to have seen that." He admitted. He finally tore his eyes away from the now empty road. "So… hospital?"

"Yup." Jules answered, already heading for her vehicle.

Sam looked at Wordy. "You coming?"

Wordy nodded. "I'll meet you there. Gotta do something first. And let Ed know!"

Sam waved his assurances as he jogged after Jules.

Wordy turned, looking about the parking lot. It took him only a moment to find Doug.

He was sitting in the back seat of a police car, still wrapped up in Wordy's coat, his head turning left and right, eyes big with barely contained fear. After all, he was now in the hands of the very people who had shot and killed his friend, his hero. Doug hadn't been arrested, but he was a minor, without any guardians, involved in some bad stuff. Children's Service were going to lock him up. If there was no alternative, the kid who had saved his friend's life, just might be locked up until he was eight-teen years of age… and, by then, what future would be left to him?

Wordy looked about again, finding his solution. Crossing the parking lot, he came to find himself standing in front of Regine Buteau.

Always a lady, despite the hardships of her life, she stood regal beside her husband as he sat in the back seat of another police car, his hands cuffed behind his back. Her eyes brightened when she saw Wordy and she offered him a slight smile. "How is Constable Scarlatti? Was that his name?"

Wordy returned the smile. "He's gonna be alright." He answered, surprise how just saying it tightened his chest a bit.

"Good. That is good." Regine answered.

"So?" Jean Paul growled. Averting his eyes, he demanded "You want an apology?"

"Jean Paul, please…"

But Wordy quickly shook his head. "No, sir. This wasn't your fault. It was just a bad day."

Jean Paul huffed, still feeling angry for his lost son. He might understand it better, but understanding did little to ease the pain of such a loss.

Wordy turned his attention to the mother. "Ma'am, I would like to ask a… a favor."

"A favor?!" the father huffed.

Regine ignored him. "You may ask." She allowed, though she did not say the favor would be granted.

Again Wordy glanced to the car that held the young hero. "Douglas, ma'am… we're gonna do everything we can for him, and we're pretty sure we can keep him out of any real trouble in this… incident. But, without somewhere to go, no judge will just release him." He looked at her, meeting her soft, brown eyes. "Not without a home to go to."

Jean Paul stared at him. "Are… you offering to… to… replace my son?!" he growled.

"No, sir, not at all." Wordy was quick to answer. "I know nothing could replace Luc. Nothing could ever replace a lost child!" His mind drifted a moment to his daughters… the idea of trying to replace one of them made him sick, and he shook his head, turning his attention back to Regine. Taking her hands, he told her "I… I just think that we've lost too many good kids. We can't lose another."

Regine met his eyes, tears glistening at the corners.

"Regine!" jean Paul barked.

But his wife spoke with a strength that silenced even him. "Jean Paul, I will not live in a world of hate. And I will not allow another child to be lost if I have the ability to save him." She looked at his husband. "Luc brought him home to us. Luc reached out and saved him to begin. What legacy does our son have if we allow his deeds to go unfinished?"

Jean Paul stared at her, but shut his mouth. After a silent moment, he dropped his eyes and nodded.

Regine smiled. She squeezed Wordy's hands, then turned and walked to Doug's car.

Wordy watched as she opened the door and offered her hand to the boy within. After a moment's hesitation, Doug took her hand and, suddenly, he was hugging her, and she him.

0o0o0o0o0

A/N: one more chapter... ~~The Chronicler


	10. Chapter 10

0o0o0o0o0

The hospital was buzzing with activity.

Though there hadn't been a lot of injuries from the riot, the hospital staff had been prepared for a lot more than they had received. Now that there over preparation was not needed, they were happily putting things away, and getting back to the usual swing of things. Well, some were happy, some, the younger inexperienced ones were grumbling about missing all the action.

Greg smiled to himself.

Oh, what he would do for some boring days.

Kick back with a beer, boots thrown in a corner. Game on the set, good book…

Oh, who was he kidding? Boring day at home would find him sitting, boots on, phone in hand, waiting…

"Sarg."

Greg looked up to see Sam leading Team One through the waiting room doors. He frowned as he rose to his feet to greet them. "And I suppose there was a communication problem? Didn't I say something about going to the Barn?"

Sam stopped. He looked panicked, eyes darting about as he searched for an excuse.

Coming to the rescue, Jules stepped forward and presented her reasoning. "Brought Timmy's." she held up a tray of coffee.

Greg resisted the peace offering, choosing instead to cross his arms over his chest and use his best stern father glare until Ed chuckled.

"Give it up. They know you're not angry at them." Ed pointed out.

Their boss sighed. Shaking a finger at them, he warned the team "We will talk about communication later… not to mention who's gonna knock all the dings out of the targets in the shooting gallery and who's gonna paint the locker rooms." That said, he happily accepted the coffee Jules offered. He almost took a sip, but stopped as he felt four pairs of eyes boring into him. With another sigh, he lowered the cup. "They're trying to warm Spike up now. He's got some broken bones, bruises, cuts… burns…."

"Son of a bitch." Sam growled , turning away.

Jules grabbed his arm, but he pulled away and went to find his own space to stew.

Greg watched him walk away, but continued to talk to those in front of him. "You know the course: temperature and oxygen levels. They won't know the extent of the rest until they get those two up first… and, that could take some time." He waved to the seats. "Might as well grab a magazine and settle back."

Wordy and Jules took their coffees, then wandered after Sam, their heads together as they discussed strategy to pull their young team leader out of his self-loathing.

Ed stepped up to stand beside Greg and they watched the three team members for a moment. "Damn, it's good to see them." Ed said after a moment.

Greg looked up at him. "So… we have time. How about that talk?"

Ed looked at him sharply.

Greg smiled slightly. "Nice to go out on a win." He offered.

His friend glanced at their team again. "You know, that day when I was shot and Izzy was born… I could have lost everything. I almost did. I know how lucky I was and how easy everything can be taken away. And I made a promise. I came into the station to honor that promise; I was gonna step down…"

"Was?" Greg coaxed with raised eyebrows. He couldn't help but smile. He knew there was a 'but' in there. He knew Ed could never leave. He just knew!

Well, he really, really hoped he would never leave.

"So… who did we save today?" came a call from behind them.

The two men turned and stopped cold.

There, standing with a stern look, baby Izzy on her hip, was Sophie Lane.

And, suddenly, Greg was remembering his own wife leaving with his own son, and he wasn't feeling so confident. Wasn't so sure he wanted to feel so confident.

"Sophie?" Ed said just as soon as he could catch his breath again. But then his eyes went wide as he realized where she was. He hurried to her, his arms reaching for his two girls like they suddenly needed to be protected. "Sophie, what's wrong? Are the kids alright? Why're…."

"We're fine." Sophie assured, allowing Ed to take Izzy and look her over… just in case Sophie would hide the fact that their daughter had lost, oh, a leg or something. She smiled as she watched father and daughter make faces at each other. "We stopped by work to see what was keeping daddy so long. Winnie told us you were here." Her expression turned serious again. "How's Spike?"

Ed glanced over his shoulder as if to see if a doctor had appeared in the last minute or something with news. "We're waiting to hear now." Sensing there was no putting off any longer, Ed sighed and turned back to his wife. "I'm sorry, Sophie, really. I didn't mean to get hung up. It was supposed to be just a protection detail. I didn't expect it to get hairy. I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting…"

She let him struggle with excuses and apologies until he was left sputtering with nothing left to say. She smiled. "I heard about it on the radio and I was hoping you weren't in the middle of it. And then…" she nodded past his shoulder, toward the rest of the team. "I was glad for them that you were."

He glanced at them for a moment.

Greg, Wordy, Jules, and Sam were all watching them while trying very hard not to look like they were watching them.

They failed badly.

With a shake of his head, Ed turned back to his wife.

Sophie was cooing at baby Izzy while playing with her little fingers.

Wife and baby.

Ed couldn't think of anything more beautiful.

Except, maybe…

What did she mean by…

"Sophie…?" he started, though not really sure what he was asking her.

She took a deep breath. Looking serious again, she looked up at her husband. "Optional overtime?

Ed felt his heart skip. "Over." he promised.

"Two-hour workouts before shift?"

"Too busy with the baby for such things." Hand to heart, he swore.

"Tactical competitions?"

"Your discretion. Totally your discretion!" Crossed his heart, wishing he remembered the Boy Scout finger thingy.

"Also, when I'm ready to go back to work, I want to start my own catering business."

Ed frowned. "Your own business…?"

Sophie held up her hand. "Deal-breaker."

"Deal. Absolutely." Now he remembered the three finger Boy Scout salute.

Sophie nodded slightly, letting him think she was taking time to mull it over. Not that she would ever tell him, but she had mulled it over plenty in the car, listening to reports of the riot, and the missing SRU officer, and everything else…

She knew where her husband would be…

Knew where he should be…

Where he needed to be.

And not just for them…

She glanced at Team One.

But for him.

She looked up at her husband and smiled. Without giving him an answer, she turned her attention to Izzy. "Your daddy's a rock star."

Ed grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. "Mommy's not too bad herself." He admitted before leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.

Sophie reclaimed her daughter, telling the man she loved "Better go tell them everything they missed pretending not to listen in."

Ed glanced over his shoulder again at the team… HIS team.

He shrugged. "Let them suffer." He told her. "I got my girls."

0o0o0o0o0

They kept trying to wrap him up like… like… like a damn burrito!

Ever seen the beans in a burrito move?

Okay, so they do… often… usually in a big mess on the whitest t-shirt you have ever owned.

Point being, if they were gonna keep trying to wrap him up so tight, by god, there was gonna be a mess!

Spike frowned. Even his muddled brain didn't think that sounded quite right. If fact, it just might, maybe, sound very wrong.

There was a grumbling sound from his belly.

Great! Now he was hungry!

With a growl, he kicked his feet, trying to free them from the tight wrap.

"Hey, hey!" Greg called as he stepped into the room, holding up his hands. "What did those blankets ever do to you?"

Spike blinked at him.

For a moment, Greg wondered if his officer was actually seeing him. He had that kinda glazed look in his eyes, blinking like a bird trying to determine if the sound was coming from friend or foe.

Greg smiled gently. "Michelangelo?" he called softly, hoping, praying even, for an answer.

Spike squeezed his eyes closed. "Boss… I… I can't move my… my feet…" he ground out through clattering teeth. When his eyes opened again he threw a hate filled glare at the pile of blankets wrapped tightly around his legs.

Greg followed the glare with raised eyebrows.

Spike had been bundled in thick, warm, electric blankets from toe to chin. Tucked in tight around his legs and arms; meant to keep him warm, but also immobilizing him. Only one hand was visible and it was wrapped tightly in an ace bandage with a brace, resting on a pillow. Though his skin wasn't so blue any longer, it was far from it's proper pink hue. He was sitting up against a mountain of pillows that should have been comfortable, though he twisted and shifted as if just the opposite. IVs and wires ran from machines, under the covers, to his limbs. An oxygen tube was in his nose, giving him an even more sickly look. A heart monitor beeped to the rhythm of his heart, slow and steady, slow and steady, skip a beat, slow and steady…

Greg frowned. Skip a beat?

The Sargent stepped into the room, coming to stand beside the foot of the bed. "Feeling a little trapped?"

Spike glared at the blankets, not answering.

Greg tugged at the blankets, losing them just enough so that he could move without moving too much.

Spike stretched and flexed his legs, feeling a rush of relief from just the simple ability to move. He didn't like not being able to move, being held down, being unable to defend himself, being at someone else's mercy…

Or lack of…

"Your doctor said you were… agitated." Greg started slowly, carefully. He still didn't know everything that had happened to his man while being held hostage. He had made some surmises from the wounds he had seen and the doctor had described. And he didn't think he would ever get that little cell phone video out of his head…

Spike withering, crying out, screaming, as some crazed, little girl tortured him with a cattle prod.

If anyone deserved to be a little agitated after a day like today, it sure as hell was the man laying in the bed in front of him.

"Don't l… like 'im. He w… wouldn't let… me move." Spike grumbled. He clamped his teeth together, still trying to control the chattering. It wasn't nearly as bad as it had been, but the cold was still there. Cold all the way to the bone.

"He's trying to help you." Greg told him, watching carefully for his reactions to his words.

Spike huffed, but, otherwise didn't answer. His eyes shifted about as he worked on how to get his arms free.

Sure, one hand was already out. But he didn't want to move that one.

Worse thing about nearly freezing to death: when you started to warm up again you start to feel all the little ouches and pricks and bruises that happened during the whole day…

And you just want to sit very, very, very still.

Don't move.

Don't breath.

Don't do anything that might make you feel more than you were already feeling at that moment!

Unless you were feeling trapped.

Then you want to move, fight, run, shout, scream… Do anything to free yourself, to not be a victim anymore…

"Mike?" Greg asked.

"Spike." He corrected, but avoided making eye contact as he searched for a way out.

His Sargent frowned. He had always used his given name when he wanted, needed, Spike to pay attention to him, to focus, to listen, to not be cute or funny for a moment. So, why…

But then he knew.

With a sigh, Greg asked "You don't want to talk about what happened?"

Spike shook his head once, then quickly closed his eyes as his stomach flipped at the head movement.

"You don't want to talk about the attack on the truck?" Greg pushed, taking a step further up the bed, closing on his friend.

Spike flinched, but kept his eyes closed, his mouth shut.

"Being taken hostage?"

There was an extra beep on the heart monitor. Spike became very still, his eyes opening to just stare down at the blanket. So much passed over his expression, even a trained eye Like Greg had trouble keeping up: hurt, fear, panic, desperation, hopelessness…

Greg spoke softly, asking "What Pippy did to you? What Matt did?" He set a gentle hand on Spike's shoulder.

Spike's eyes snapped up, big and bright, a shine to them like he could cry… if his tears hadn't been frozen by the cold that rattled his teeth.

Greg flinched.

Damn it all to hell! They had hurt him! Those little bastards had hurt Spike, his Spike! And not just his body!

The Sargent forced his heart to slow down. He licked his lips, taking a moment to choose his words. "Mike," he started, meeting his eyes, holding them, "we got you. They can't do anything more to you."

Spike stared at him for a breath. Then he closed his eyes again. His body went limp as he collapsed back into the pillows as if he had just up and surrendered. "I know." He whispered. "I know…. It's just… just… not now. Not yet. P… Please?"

Greg considered pushing him further. He wanted to know what happened, everything that happened. He want Spike to talk to him, to let go some of that pressure, some of that fear, some of that hurt… But, he knew, Spike would have to do it in his own time, in his own way.

There would be a debriefing, of course. An interview so all the facts could be put down on paper. That could wait until tomorrow.

The emotional stuff… well, that'll come out in the weeks to come. Nightmares, jumping at shadows and little noises no one else notices, shivers even when it was warm, flashes of memories, scents, sounds… And the team would be there for him, close at hand, ready to assure him that they got him… and hell would freeze over before anyone got their hands on their Spike ever again!

Greg smiled slightly and nodded. "Sure. Whenever you're ready, buddy." He glanced over his shoulder to the doorway.

Ed was leaning against the frame, his baby daughter in his arms. The rest of the team was bunched up behind him, but Ed had been doing a good job of playing gate keeper, giving Greg a moment to evaluate their team mate before they bombarded him with people.

"Feel like a few visitors?" Greg asked, giving Spike's shoulder a squeeze, before stepping away to lean against the empty bed across the room. Without waiting for an answer, he gave the nod to Ed.

Ed smiled and stepped into the room. "See, Izzy? Told you Uncle Spike was a tough guy." He cooed to his daughter as he carried her over to the bed.

Again Spike's eyes snapped open, but, this time, there was a startled thrill in them. It didn't seem all that long ago now that he had threatened to stage a raid to get his hands on the newest member of Team One's extended family. "Hey! Izzy!" he greeted the baby with a grin.

The baby took one look at the wrapped up man, a look at the broken hand, a look at the beeping heart monitor, and let out a wail.

Spike frowned.

Ed shrugged. "Yup. That was my first reaction to him, too."

"Wailed like a baby?" Sam teased as he led the rest of team in. "I could see that."

Jules ignored both men, quickly pushing pass them to Spike, and throwing her arms around him. "Spike! Don't you ever do that again!" she reprimanded.

"Yea." Sam agreed. "No more being kidnapped, okay?"

"You know it was all a clever plot to get out of all the work." Wordy teased as he came up on the other side of the bed. Despite his amused tone, his eyes turned hard when he looked his friend up and down. "Hey, One Hit Wonder." He greeted softly. "How you feeling?"

Spike blinked up at him. Then he glanced at each of his team mates. His chest had already felt tight. They said it would for a while, until his oxygen levels were back to where they should be. But, suddenly, it felt like someone was standing on his chest.

"Jules?" he managed after a moment. When she leaned back to look at him, he told her "Y… you're w… warm."

She smiled. After a quick kiss on the cheek, she wiggled about so she could sit on the side of his bed comfortably, and keep her warm arms around his still shivering form. "Never, ever, ever again. Understood?" she told him in that not-up-for-negotiations tone.

Spike actually chuckled. He closed his eyes and settled into her warm hug.

He was safe.

They got him.

And it didn't matter that he hurt or that he was tired or that he was cold or that he was scared or that the world could end in any moment…

They got him!

0o0o0o0o0

Good Cop for a Good Cop

The End

0o0o0o0o0

A/N: so, we've finally came to an end. I wanted to thank everyone for their feedback (please continue to feedback this last chapter, pretty, pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top). Here's hoping I did alright.

Now, for the official stuff.

There's a lot of lines in this story directly from the episode. I did not point them out before hand because I wanted the rewrite to blend smoothly with the original. I hope it was effective and didn't ruffle any feathers.

Much thanks to the creators and writers of Flashpoint for which, without them, I would have nothing to play with, my life would be oh, so, very boring, and I would not have any such fantasies of propelling down a wall, through a window, rolling across the floor, coming up in a crouch, my flash bomb thingy at the ready, with a growled "Wanna talk 'bout it, dirt bag?"

'Course, we can all be thankful that that remains in the realm of fantasy. lord knows, the real life version would go more like... propelling down a wall... splat!

So, thanks to all who bothered to read all this jitter jabber.

Here's hoping to have something new for you all real soon!

~~The Chronicler


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